losing the anvil

Last night was the Reclaiming Brigid ritual, one in the past I have loved, but I had no desire to go this year, feeling deeply estranged from the local energy body of Reclaiming. I heard the anvil has gone missing, and a new one had to be purchased. I wonder what that augurs, what that signifies in the magical realms.

For me, the most incredible piece of magic done this Brigid has got to be the poetry that Reya elicited in blogdom. I will be savoring it for months to come, I’m sure. Between the worlds, the beauty of it continues to emanate.

My two goddess daughters dropped by my house with some friends, one who has taken magic classes from me since her freshman year in high school. They were off to the Reclaiming ritual, and were just in time to have my friend Nancy hand off to them water she had just brought back from New Orleans. Nancy is brilliant at figuring out ways to raise money that go towards things that make a difference. She was in New Orleans figuring out what that difference could be for that city. Full of ideas, fighting a cold, and overwhelmed with what she saw, she gave the girls the water and went home.

I’d had a very rough day, I’d had a painful conversation with a fading friend, and now my heart was tender with what I saw in and heard from Nancy about New Orleans. I read the Brigid poetry until tears streamed down my face. Thank you, Reya.

Then, an old comrade from both the magical and activist circles came over and we read more poetry, talked about mistakes made, and took our time coming up with our pledges to Brigid. I went to bed, praying that those at the Reclaiming ritual had the good sense to keep the waters of the world flowing this year, instead of collecting it and letting it stagnate, and praying that this be a year I stick close to the well and away from taking a beating on the forge.