A Snowdrops Call

I’m sat, watching birds fluff their feathers and busily building their nests with windblown twigs. 

The sky is grey and a roof of winter is over my head, my heart yearns for spring. 

I saw snow drops today, poking out of the dark soil, and I realised that today is Saint Bridget’s day.

Saint Bridget is the Patron Saint of dairymaids, midwives and newborn babies.

Tomorrow is Imbolc too, another echo that the first stirrings of spring is awakening.

Coincidentally it is the Inca month of Hatan Puncuy, The Great Ripening. 

It is a time dedicated to the Divine Feminine in all her earthy and heavenly forms. 

Though nothing in the United Kingdom is ripe, the fertility of the season is obviously still within the whole earth.

The Divine Feminine archetype who speaks to me today, on Her day, is Bridget. 

But she has many other names; Brighid, Brigantia, and far older names, Bree. 

She is the breeze that blows our seeds to lay.

She is the breath that blows life into the Smithy’s fire. 

She is the breast milk of nourishment that pours from the mountains to fertilise the earth, the snowdrops that drip like springs lactation.

For me personally, this time of year reminds me to honour the Divine Feminine within me. 

She expresses herself through me in many aspects in my life. 

As a gay man, she flames my desires as she flames her own. 

As a LGBT father, I embody her as nourisher, comforter, fierce mother, teacher of trees and beasts, tear collector and bottom wiper. 

She communicates her words through my writing and my art, both ceremonial and aimless doodling. She pours through my fingers in crazy ways, risqué ways, creative and wild ways, and often very emotional ways; talking of which, she cries through my eyes at the most inappropriate times. 

She works her magic through me when I am in a state of healing. 

She listens, as I listen, a sacred witness to another person’s pain, one divine being listening to itself, maybe…She moves my hands over our clients, allowing me to remove the hucha you no longer need, she guides my fingers as I shift the flow of the river of light within you and re-members lost soul parts. 

She also sits quietly within my heart while I hold your precious skull in my hands.

In honour of the fact, that it is also LGBT History month, I’d like to add that we, the LGBT community, were once, and still are in certain parts of the world, considered sacred. 

Even in the most intolerant of countries, there was once a holy place for us, you cannot deny it. 

We were called Two Spirited. 

Gay men, for example, were seen as having the physical body of the Holy Father, Great Spirit, and the spirit, soul and passions of the Divine Mother, the Sacred Feminine. 

Because of this view, we were often trained in the traditional paths of healers, priests and priestesses, medicine people and shaman. 

We were seen as a conduit between heaven and earth, spirit and matter, the masculine and the feminine, balance.

But we All have both the light and the dark within us, we all have both the Divine Masculine and the Divine Feminine within us, they are One within us, a perfect and many shaded rainbow. 

Each one of us capable of answering the call of Spirit. Her call, the nesting call, springs call, the healers call, snowdrops call. 

Listen to your heart, and you will hear her.