Sabbats Almanac: Samhain to Mabon - Kristoffer Hughes 2018
Imbolc by JD Hortwort
Imbolc
AT IMBOLG, WE MARK the first cross-quarter of the year. Winter is half over; spring is coming closer. It’s not one of the more fanciful Pagan observations—especially if you compare it to the excitement of Yule or Samhain.
That might be because, as best we know, Imbolg (originally i mBolg in Old Irish) is an agrarian festival in the truest sense. A translation of the word comes down to “in the belly” or “in milk.” Another word for this seasonal observation is Oimelc, possibly meaning “ewe’s milk.” Try to explain the significance of that to someone not accustomed to the intricacies of animal husbandry!
To be fair, students of Pagan lore still debate the significance of Imbolg to ancient worshippers. Some have suggested this was not so much a day of celebration but a season of purification, perhaps lasting a week or more.
The evidence sways on the scale. On the one hand, Imbolg is not mentioned on the Coligny calendar, unlike the cross-quarter observations of Beltaine and Lughnasahda. The Coligny calendar was discovered near Lyon, France, in 1897 as an etched bronze plaque measuring roughly two feet high and four feet across. The calendar is written in Gaulish in Roman letters and is believed be from the first century CE. It is the best hard historical evidence so far of how Celtic people marked the passage of days.
On the other hand, the Neolithic Mound of Hostages at Tara in Ireland was set up to mark the rising sun on Imbolg and Samhain. This is a passage tomb believed to have been built sometime around 3000—2500 BCE. The Celts didn’t build it, but they did utilize it. The point is, you don’t arbitrarily construct an artificial mountain nine feet tall and forty-nine feet in diameter, investing many hours of manual labor. If the ancients oriented the entrance to the tomb to capture the sun on this day, they must have considered the day important.
Plus, there is ample evidence that the time around the end of January and the beginning of February in ancient times was marked by cleansing and anticipation. Ancient people could clearly see their flocks beginning to produce milk again and they could see the evidence of new growth in the fields. It’s safe to assume they welcomed these new signs of vitality as though their lives depended on it—because they did.
Still, as one of the leaders of a Pagan group in my area, I can say it’s not easy to get people excited about sheep giving birth or nursing their young. And, despite the fact that this cross-quarter festival is a celebration of the end of winter, the chilly days of February often give lie to that promise. It’s cold outside, even in the Mid-Atlantic states. In the north tier of the U.S., winter hangs on desperately with gray days, persistent snow or ice, and howling winds.
Skeptical Pagans can hardly be blamed for raising an eyebrow at the pronouncement that, “Spring is just a few weeks away!” “Oh, yeah?” is the response. “Tell us again around Ostara.”
Fortunately, if modern Pagans don’t always grasp the idea of sheep coitus, they usually have a good understanding of the nature of seeds. For the group with which I practice, that has become the reason for this very Pagan season.
Imbolg is a stirring, a quickening just before something wonderful comes forth. We celebrate it in Bridget, daughter of the Dagda. Her mother might have been the Morrigan, or she might have been Boann. That really depends on the region doing the celebrating, way back in pre-Roman days.
Bridget may have been a triple goddess. She certainly had enough names including Bride, Brighid, Brigit, Briggidda, Brigantu, and Brid. Many Pagans believe she was Pan-Celtic even in the early days—known and accepted by Celts across Europe, Britain, and Ireland.
She is thought to be the goddess of the hearth and of the forge. She is patron goddess of poets and story tellers—those who lived by the light of the divine spark of inspired performance. Bridget is a fertility goddess and a healer. She takes over from the Old Crone of Winter, the Cailleach, as ruler of the lighter half of the year.
The Crone stomps around the winter landscape, striking and freezing the ground with her staff. Only on Imbolg will she occasionally delight in a sunny day. But her motive is sinister. She allows the sun only so that she can gather more wood for the home fire and prolong the cold outside.
Bridget is the divine spark. She walks back into our lives with a single candle light. It’s just a flickering ember, but that tiny flame is a perfect metaphor for what is going on in nature. We don’t walk in on spring like we walk into a room of Yule decorations. Spring doesn’t show up overnight. The first signs of spring aren’t brilliant like the bright eggs we dye for Ostara.
They are the delicate first blades of grass that tentatively poke up from under the fallen leaves. As the sun warms the ground, down below seeds begin to break their hulls; sap begins to rise in the trees; the smallest flower buds begin to swell.
This idea of the first stirrings is behind modern observations of Groundhog’s Day. In some cultures, people watched for badgers or bears as indicators for how long winter would last. On the European continent, certain regions watched for the first appearance of the hedgehog.
This takes us back to the agrarian roots of Imbolg. If your food supplies are running low and the wood pile is getting smaller, the reappearance of spring is about much more than cabin fever. It’s about survival. Early settlers from Europe believed if the hedgehog saw its shadow winter would go on for another six weeks. If not, spring might come early, before the actual vernal equinox.
Americans didn’t have hedgehogs. They had bears and badgers. Both of those can be especially ornery when they first step out of the den. Who would want to be the person standing there waiting on either one?
What we had in abundance was groundhogs. Groundhogs kind of look like hedgehogs and badgers. They can be mean-tempered but are much more manageable than angry bears. So, our German forefathers grafted their expectations onto this American critter and kept on prognosticating the weather with it.
Probably without realizing it, those American ancestors were also marking the very Pagan ritual of Imbolg and Bridget’s message to us. Bridget tells us to get ready for the coming warm weather by cleansing and purifying ourselves and our surroundings.
Bridget tells us to take that broom from the hearth and sweep away the debris of winter and last year’s growth. In the days leading up to February 2, we encourage our members to do this both physically and metaphysically. We ask that they give their altar a thorough cleaning. We recommended a deep cleaning of their home. We also suggest they indulge in a long cleansing shower or bath ritual with herbs and oils that strip away negative energies and provide a bright, protective aura.
At ritual, members bring ritual tools for cleansing and blessing. At the same time, we cleanse the house’s ritual tools. We set up boxes with the candles, incenses, and other items we plan to use for ritual throughout the rest of the year. These will also be blessed during the Imbolg celebration.
In some years, we bring packets of seeds into the ritual. Not all of our members have access to gardening space but most have a sunny window or two. Members pick a seed packet at Imbolg and hold on to it through the ritual. They take it home and place it on their altar. At Ostara, they bring the seed packet back and we all plant the seeds in small pots.
These go back home with the members to be tended and cultivated throughout the season. Hopefully, the members can share the produce from these plantings as the year goes on, whether that is herbs or vegetables or fruit.
The goal of this work is to build anticipation because that is what Imbolg means to us in a modern world. Yule is heavily over-written with the memories of the Christian observations all of us have; so is Ostara. Imbolg is a truly Pagan festival. It’s fresh. It’s free of baggage—beyond the image of a mean-spirited rodent being hauled out of its burrow at the crack of dawn.
The message of our Imbolg ritual is, it isn’t spring yet—but it soon will be! Forget the ceremonies or sorrows of last year because we closed that book at Yule. We are looking, hoping for the future and it can be as grand as our imagination.