Brigid’s Ritual, Part 14

Morning meditation, the road to my spirit world
Where wisdom and kinship await —
Ariel, appearing as a small human woman
Greets me at the kitchen table,
In the room of healing potions,
Hanging bundles of dried plants,
My mind —chaotic with dread and sadness —
Reveals truth without words,
A sexual predator, voted in —
Ushering a pack of liars, grifters,
A kakistocracy of criminals,
The laws broken, the press bending,
Spineless politicians bowing
To mean-spirited bullies
Who plan to override the democracy
They hate —
Ariel takes my hand and leads me
To the next room with its French window
Where we wait for dawn, for hope —
Now delicate twinkling white lights dance
Along the walls,
And I sit in front of a fire place,
The warmth of the flames and the lights
Begin to fill my body
With a brighter, softer aspect — the alarm recedes —
Finding balance ahead of dark times
Means showing up early for the opposition,
Starting from a place I choose,
Grounded —
Refusing to obey —joy and love
Protected, nourished —
The shade of fascism feeds on hopelessness,
Fear and isolation in the dark —
Ariel reminds me to celebrate Yule,
The glow of fire,
The shimmer of lights everywhere,
A cozy feeling —
Authentic, not forced,
Well being to share —
A pot of tea, conversation, tears, smiles, gifts
With my family and friends,
And out into the world I send that love —
For all of us, the animals,
The land,
For earth herself.

Laurel Owen, December 2024