Vasant Panchami and the Feast Day of Brigit



Today, January 27th, here in Wales, is the day of the puja (worship or reverence) of Sarasvati, a sister goddess to Brigit. (You can find out which day it is in your part of the world on this website.) Vasant Panchami is celebrated on the fifth day of the waxing moon period of Magh (the month of January-February) in the traditional Indian calendar. In 2017, the date will be February 1st which is also the feast day of Brigit.

Sarasvati is the goddess of thought, memory and creative intelligence. These give rise to culture and so, not surprisingly, Sarasvati has become the goddess of culture. She is the inspiration behind the arts, often invoked by poets, but also associated with music, dancing and science. She is usually depicted with a vina or lute, and a sacred book. Books, pens, musical instruments and gurus are worshipped on this day and pictures and statues of her are put up in educational establishments.  Tradtionally children were taught to write their first words at Vasant Panchami and she is venerated in schools. The following song is sung to her: 

O Divine Virtuous Goddess Sarasvati. We bow to your feet. O Goddess of Speech, the all-pervading with cosmic vibrations, we surrender at your Divine feet. 

O Goddess, shelter to the seeker, blessed of the Three Worlds, worshipped by divine seers. Your melody is with the nine aesthetic senses and divine poetry, adorned by the varied tastes of learning. 

O the one seated on the throne of swan, O the one endowed by white complexion pure as snow and moon, the one seated on the white lotus, remove from us lethargy and expand our horizon of vision. 

O Goddess, you are the embodiment of artistic skills and string of knowledge. O the one holding the divine book of learning and the vina, we submit ourselves in entirety at your lotus feet. O Goddess, remove from our minds the poison of hatred.

Vasant Panchami, like the feast day of St Brigit, marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring. The colour yellow is symbolic of the festival, expressing the brightness and vibrancy of life and nature. People wear yellow clothes and give yellow flowers as offerings and gifts. A special delicacy is made which is coloured yellow by saffron and also contains nuts, cardamum, sugar and flour.

The puja tray is an important part of everyday devotions to the deities. Here is an excerpt from the website http://atschool.eduweb.co.uk/carolrb/hinduism/puja.html explaining which objects are placed on the tray and what they symbolise as well as what devotions at the evening session consist of:

1. A pot of water for ritual cleansing.
2. A bell to call the family to worship. [Others say it is to let the deity know they have come to worship and invite her into their home.]
3. A tiny pot of the red gum gum paste to mark the forehead. This mark means that a woman's soul (her husband) is with her. [Others say they mark the forehead of the statue as a mark of respect and devotion to the gods and mark their own forehead as a sign of the blessing of the deity.]
4. An arti lamp for the arti ceremony where everybody passes their hands over the lighted lamp and then over their forehead to make them feel closer to God.
5. An incense burner or joss stick holder.

The evening session will be a much longer session and will include reading of holy books, discussions, teaching, meditation and prayer. Hindu parents spend a lot of time teaching their children about their religion.

Many Hindus meet for festivals at temples or mandirs, but most prayer is within the family at the family shrine. There is no need for regular church meetings for the congregation.

In the puja Hindus use their senses to make them feel close to God. They use music and chant the aum to make their ears aware of God. They use beautiful images to make their eyes aware of God. They burn ghee butter and incense to make the air smell sweet so that people focus on God. Specially prepared sweets and foods are part of ceremonies so that helps Hindus think about God. Finally the arti ceremony is where the sense of touch is stimulated to make people think of God.

Sarasvati has four arms, symbolising ego, intellect, alertness and mind. She is often shown as above, sitting on a white swan, a symbol of purity, or a lotus, symbol of transcendence. When her vehicle is a peacock it is said by some to mean that a strong ego can be reigned in by wisdom.

Those of you who are familiar with Brigit as goddess and saint will see that there are many similarities between these goddesses. I have explored them more fully in the article Brigit, Sarasvati and the Sacred Word, on my website, Brigit's Forge.

Today happens to be the start of my shift as a flame-keeper and well-tender for the group Nigheanan Brighde so I decided that after I'd lit the flame and recited the group prayer I'd also honour Sarasvati tonight. I put a statue of her on my shrine, and rang a bell I keep in the small cupboard that my limestone carving of Brigit rests upon. I offered rosemary and parsley as flowers, along with oats instead of rice, and rice-cakes with strawberry jam instead of the usual delicacy, lit some Indian cone incense and put water in Brigit's swan vase for ritual cleansing. Finally I used some red paint from my paintbox to dab on my forehead and recited the prayer as above. It was a beautiful small ceremony and ringing the bell and placing the red spot on my forehead felt especially potent. I hope Brigit approves and enjoys the company of her sister deity this night.

The Old Year

The Old Year

by John Clare

The Old Year's gone away      To nothingness and night: We cannot find him all the day      Nor hear him in the night: He left no footstep, mark or place      In either shade or sun: The last year he'd a neighbour's face,      In this he's known by none. All nothing everywhere:      Mists we on mornings see Have more of substance when they're here      And more of form than he. He was a friend by every fire,      In every cot and hall-- A guest to every heart's desire,      And now he's nought at all. Old papers thrown away,      Old garments cast aside, The talk of yesterday,      Are things identified; But time once torn away      No voices can recall: The eve of New Year's Day      Left the Old Year lost to all. John Clare's poem describes the old year as a neighbour and friend and suggests that we have lost something as we discard papers, garments and yesterday's conversations. It's true that there's something refreshing about a change of digit as we move firmly into 2012; an opportunity offered to wipe the slate clean and renounce old damaging habits, move forward with plans and projects and become the people we should like to become... But time is not as linear as it appears. We move in spirals, this new year touching the last one and the one before and the one before that... Rather than completely turning our backs on the old year, the familiar, let's take a moment to think about what it brought that was good and wholesome, what lessons we learnt from it, what aspects of it we should like to bring with us as we step into this new year. And what problems it brought which have still to be solved - does a fresh perspective help? Whatever your situation I wish you well in 2012 as you journey forward.

The Story of Brigit at Christmas

Illustration: Parker Fitzgerald with Brittany Richardson, Brian Gage Design 

Bride, Midwife to Mary, Foster-Mother of the Divine Child

It is said that Bride was the daughter of poor pious parents, and the serving-maid in the inn of Bethlehem. Great drought occurred in the land, and the master of the hostel went away with his cart to procure water from afar, leaving with Bride 'faircil buirn agus breacag arain,' a stoup of water and a bannock of bread to sustain her till his return. The man left injunctions with Bride not to give food or drink to any one, as he had left only enough for herself, and not to give shelter to any one against his return.
As Bride was working in the house two strangers came to the door. The man was old, with brown hair and grey beard, and the woman was young and beautiful, with oval face, straight nose, blue eyes, red lips, small ears, and golden brown hair, which fell below her waist. They asked the serving-maid for a place to rest, for they were footsore and weary, for food to satisfy their hunger, and for water to quench their thirst. Bride could not give them shelter, but she gave them of her own bannock and of her own stoup of water, of which they partook at the door; and having thanked Bride the strangers went their way, while Bride gazed wistfully and sorrowfully after them. She saw that the sickness of life was on the young woman of the lovely face, and her heart was sore that she had not the power to give them shade from the heat of the sun, and cover from the cold of the dew.

When Bride returned into the house in the darkening of the twilight, what was stranger to her to see than that the bannock of bread was whole, and the stoup of water full, as they had been before! She did not know under the land of the world what she would say or what she would do. The food and the water of which she herself had given them, and had seen them partake, without a bit or a drop lacking from them! When she recovered from her wonderment Bride went out to look after the two who had gone their way, but she could see no more of them. But she saw a brilliant golden light over the stable door, and knowing that it was not 'dreag a bhais,' a meteor of death, she went into the stable and was in time to aid and minister to the Virgin Mother, and to receive the Child into her arms, for the strangers were Joseph and Mary, and the child was Jesus Christ, the Son of God, come to earth, and born in the stable of the hostel of Bethlehem.

When the Child was born Bride put three drops of water from the spring of pure water on the tablet of His forehead, in name of God, in name of Jesus, in name of Spirit. When the master of the inn was returning home, and ascending the hill on which his house stood, he heard the murmuring music of a stream flowing past his house, and he saw the light of a bright star above his stable door. He knew from these signs that the Messiah was come and that Christ was born, for it was in the seership of the people that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, would be born in Bethlehem, the town of David. And the man rejoiced with exceeding joy at the fulfilment of the prophecy, and he went to the stable and worshipped the new Christ, whose infant cradle was the manger of the horses.

Thus Bride is called 'ban-chuideachaidh Moire,' the aid-woman of Mary. In this connection, and in consequence thereof, she is called 'Muime Chriosda,' foster-mother of Christ; 'Bana-ghoistidh Mhic De,' the god-mother of the Son of God; 'Bana-ghoistidh Iosda Criosda nam bane agus nam beannachd,' god-mother of Jesus Christ of the bindings and blessings. Christ again is called 'Dalta Bride,' the foster-son of Bride; 'Dalta Bride bith nam beannachd,' the foster-son of Bride of the blessings; 'Daltan Bride,' little fosterling of Bride, a term of endearment.

Carmina Gadelica, by Alexander Carmichael, Volume 1, Floris Books, [1900], pp 164-166

The Gift of Power

I am the Gift, I am the Poor,
I am the man of this night.

I am the Son of God in the door,
On Monday seeking the gifts.

Noble is Bride the gentle, fair on her knee,
Noble the King of Glory on her breast.

Son of the moon, Son of the sun,
Great Son of Mary of God-like mind.

A cross on each right shoulder,
I am in the door, open thou.

I see the hills, I see the strand,
I see angels heralding on high.

I see the dove, shapely, benign,
Coming with kindness and friendship to us.

From Carmina Gadelica, Vol 1, Ortha 60.


May kindness and friendship be upon you this Season of Celebration!

Autumn Journey

The Llanrindod Wells Oak

I wrote a while ago about wanting to embark on more right brain activities - then Cernunnos brought himself to my attention and, instead of meditating, doing ritual and writing poetry, what did I do - I set about reading, researching and writing an article about him. I do think it is true that we are often tested when we make a decision to change something quite fundamental...

Still, I gave myself quite a headache writing it - I tend not to be able to switch off at such times and even find myself half-awake in the middle of the night working out what to say. So I really decided 'no more' - or not for a while. That doesn't mean I won't write any more posts here but they won't be long, researched ones.

Since then, I am reading and writing more poetry and it is beginning to feel exciting. I am tuning into a different way of thinking and perceiving that seems to be increasing exponentially, building on itself. This is a change I've wanted to make for the last few years so it is rather wonderful if I am starting to move forward with it - like setting forth on a voyage. I hope it continues and that I don't find myself in the doldrums...

Because of this I've decided to take note of the prevailing blogging wisdom of focusing on one thing and create a blog devoted to poetry which is here now. I know there are a few of you who are interested in poetry so you're welcome to visit!

It doesn't mean there will be no poetry here at all of course...



September is gone...

The month of September,
there is verse in the Canon,
 the ripening season of corn and fruit; 

Mis Medi, mydr ynGhanon,
aeddfed oed yd ac aeron;

The Verses of the Months, Welsh, c 15th century

Yes, September is certainly gone now but I needed to post the verse of the month as it is the last one in the sequence I started last October.

I've felt rather unsettled since coming back from a visit up North to visit family and have been wondering if my life is starting to flow into different channels. I haven't felt like doing much on the computer - partly because I am swapping over to a new one which I have been finding less user-friendly. However, I felt I must post the September verse before October turns into November and a new cycle begins.

For some unknown reason, after I changed a couple of things on this blog format and then changed them back, even though I checked all was as it should be, the next time I logged on the template had been changed to something I hadn't chosen. I've been unable to return it to the simple form I had before so this new layout is the best I can do!

More later...

Tending the Flame: To Brighid, Patroness of the Druids and Bards

 

Brighid by Tattered Dreams 

 http://www.deviantart.net/

 

 

To Brighid, Patroness of the Druids and Bards

Beloved Brighid of the triple flame,

Daughter of the Dagda,

Guardian of the sacred springs

Whose voice is the soul of the harp

We call on Thee.

Teach our hands to heal and our hearts to sing.

We entrust our life’s progress to your care

and ask that you shape us,

bending and turning our hearts on your bright anvil of flame

till we are made perfect jewels

fit to be set in the Eye of your timeless harp

to play for the Soul of the people in times of sorrow

and times of celebration.

We thank you for your gifts to us of Poetry and Music

of laughter and tears,

and for the healing balm of your Wisdom.

May we always remember to meditate

on the gift of your sacred waters,

which surround us at our birth

and sail us to our destiny.

Our hearts are open to receive your blessings.

Midwife of our souls, rain on us,

shower your inspiration in curtains of song

from sacred waterfalls in the realm where you dwell.

Come to us as Virgin with the soft smell of flowers.

Come to us as Mother and feed us your fruits.

Come to us as the Wise Woman in the stark blasts of Winter.

Help us to see your Mystery in all creation,

that we may know gratitude and reverence.

Our hearts sing to you with love.

Teach us to change like the revolving seasons.

Teach us to grow like the green corn that feeds the people.

Teach us to fashion beauty like the stillness of the forest pool

and the roar of the ocean wave.

Teach us to heal like the soothing gem which cools the eyes and

restores the limbs.

With humility and bright expectation

We invoke Thee this hour!

 by Ellen Evert Hopman  
from A Druid's Herbal For the Sacred Earth Year

http://www.elleneverthopman.com/

*********

One of the ways I spend the time while tending Brigit's flame is to read and write in my 'Brigit Devotional'. It's a plain book in which I put pictures and copy poems, prayers and invocations I've written or read elsewhere. It's not as beautifully written as I'd have liked - there are blotches and crossings-out - but it has a homemade feel to it which makes it unique and quite powerful in its own way.

I like to spend time looking through it, reading the poems and prayers, remembering where I found them, being inspired by them and the pictures. It connects me with past vigils, with words and with writing on paper. It dances through time and space, strengthening, enlightening, uplifting. Between dusk and dusk, accompanying the flame, it sings to Brigit.

A Magical Day in August

The month of August, the salt-marsh is [full of snail], the bees are merry, the hive is full;         the work of the sickle is better than that of the bow; the rick is more frequent than the playing-field; Mis Awst, molwynoc morva, llon gwenyn, llawn modryda; gwell gwaith kryman no bwa; amlach das no chwarwyva; The Verses of the Months, Welsh, c 15th century

A journey and an unexpectedly magical day out

I’ve been feeling a bit low for the last week - a tiredness I can’t seem to shake off and consequent inability to keep on top of things, chores and paperwork, bureaucracy; mobility a little more difficult, a little more painful. On Wednesday I set off to Llandrindod Wells for a long-standing appointment with the osteopath. I wasn’t looking forward to the drive which takes about an hour and a quarter and planned to go there and come back as quickly as possible.

But…  although it was a dull day with rain beating down on the slopes of Pumlumon as I set off, there were such solid swathes of rosebay willow-herb by the roadsides that they gave off a magnificent deep pink that seemed to vibrate with light in spite of the grey skies.

I arrived uncharacteristically early at Rock Park where the osteopath has her consulting-room. The car-park was full so I decided to drive on into the park to explore a little which I hadn’t done before. The track didn’t go very far and ended in a small parking area by a bowling club. From there, there was a tree-lined path disappearing round a bend, but just at the start of the path was an arresting sight – a grandfather oak, huge, with spreading and curving branches which circled the tree and gave an impression of welcome, of expansiveness, of shelter. Shaken out of my melancholy mood, I went to meet it, exhilarated.

 

I walked round it and gazed up into its branches, almost overwhelmed by its presence, its solidity but perhaps more than anything by the impression of an openness to the world around it, a willingness perhaps to engage with walkers on the path. After spending some time quietly beside it, I leant my hands, palms out, against its trunk, and asked for some of its strength and solidity. Then, after leaving an offering, I drove back down to keep my appointment, finding a parking-space outside the door.

After my session I decided to go into the town centre and have lunch at the Herb Garden – the place to visit if you are ever in Llandrindod Wells and enjoy good vegetarian food.

I had a bowl of mixed salads – more varied and exotic than I would ever make for myself – and a granary roll, followed by earl grey tea and an apricot slice. Outside the edges of the path were planted with herbs and rowan trees, their branches hanging low with the weight of their red berries. The excellent food and calm and green surroundings further raised my spirits and leaving I decided to call in at the Oxfam shop two doors down to look for some bedtime reading. I found 4 books but also something totally unexpected… on the bottom shelf of odds ‘n ends was a carving of a horse’s head. I picked it up – hardly able to believe my eyes - it was beautiful, unique because it had been carved into the shape of the wood - something very close-grained, beech perhaps? - a wavy cleft, maybe fungus damage, giving the impression of a mane.

I bought it of course. The person who priced it obviously didn’t see it with the same eyes as me since it was a mere 99p. For me it is one of the most beautiful things I own and since bringing it home I’ve been almost mesmerised by it. It seems to be working on me as a poem sometimes will – as I look at it, it changes angles and perspectives, there’s a tantalising trace of its maker, half-suggestions of ideas and forms and an energy greater than the sum of its part.

It’s difficult to define this energy; it has a haunting, almost wistful quality I think. The eyes of the horse don’t look at me, don’t relate to me directly, and I have a sense of a dignified acceptance perhaps resignation. Perhaps it is the look of Rhiannon as she fulfilled her punishment of carrying guests on her back to the llys.

I don’t actually have a connection with Epona or Rigantona/Rhiannon, the horse goddess, myself, but since she is important to the group Brython I’ve been open to honouring her in a sense at a remove.

For me personally, much of what relates to Rigantona may be found in Brigit/Brigantia, although not always her most important or pronounced aspects. There is some evidence that she has been seen as a sovereignty figure, a bringer of abundance, and a harbinger of the return of warmth and growth to the land - her other face the face of winter. She too has bird associates but where she differs markedly from Rigantona is that her animal is commonly the cow and she has no connection with the horse.

The cow and the horse bring up very different associations. The cow is related to nurturing, food and sustenance, and through these to wealth and prosperity; the horse bequeaths us grace, power, speed, the ability to move over the land. If the cow gives the basics needed for survival, sustenance, the horse goes a step beyond, giving the ability to command territory, to travel, to transport – perhaps, more romantically, to do so with elegance and grace.

I’ve always admired the beauty of horses and am attracted to Celtic depictions of the horse on their coins and jewellery. I have a brooch which is a copy of a bronze plate, 2^nd century, Romano-Celtic brooch, inlaid with green enamel and dappled with white spots, found at Verulamium.

But it does not have the energy of my carving and I wait to see what changes this horse energy will bring to my home.

So my trip to Llandrindod turned into a rather magical outing. The agent of the magic was, in both cases, wood. The raw, rooted and solid energy of the oak and the small, delicate horse - wood transformed by human artistry. I have a strong affiliation with wood, and appropriately - it is also my name.