Dancing with the Light: Imbolc
Early Morning
The population of the Monarch butterfly continues to plummet….reports the newsfeed. My heart is heavy. I can’t bear to read the article.
Snuggled in flannel and wool, wool hat and socks, I sit in my rocking chair in front of my living room window slowly scanning the hillside tree line for the barest bit of light to appear. It’s 4 AM and too soon for the Winter sun to show, but I sit vigil anyway. I know the light will come. I can count on that. What I didn’t factor were the clouds.
Thin, streaky, light gray clouds allowed bits of the blue sky to peek through as they flowed into thin patchy strands alternating with fluffy puffs of dark gray. Briefly, sunlight poured through a gap and filled the room with bright yellow, only to be quickly extinguished with the shifting mass of cloud. Temporarily hidden, for a few brief seconds bright rays of light streamed out from gaps in the cloud to the silent trees below. Reassurance.
Mid-Morning
Piling firewood onto my arms while being mindful of sleeping Black Widows, I carry the logs of cedar, oak and wild cherry to the pile beside the firepit. Bonfires. Candles. Dancing. All in preparation to celebrate the return of the light on Imbolc, February 2, a Celtic tradition marking the mid-point of Winter. The restlessness of Winter’s constraints evolves into eager anticipation of Spring’s return and the manifestation of the seeds of change I dreamed during the dark.
Among the leaf litter I spy a small Stinging Nettle plant poking through. It’s not where I want Nettle to grow so I pull. It’s a long runner from another Nettle plant. I note all the tiny nettle leaves marking their growth points from this exploring root. The leaves are already a dark green and the root a bright white – all this growth taking place under the cover of the soil! And with little light. Soft rounded tops of hyacinths, daffodils and tulips push their way through the rotting leaves, soaking up the light. Soon their scents will drift in the air. Anticipation.
Evening
I’m standing in a brightly lit room in a large circle of eager beginning square dancers as one of the experienced dancers. We hold hands and slowly walk the steps as directed by the caller. Lots of laughing and sometimes grimacing as feet, mind and body learn to coordinate. The lesson continues. We form into traditional 4-paired squares and continue the lesson. Initial nervousness fades into shy smiles as the pattern of the dance becomes smoother.
At the end, music is played weaving together singing and calling the steps: Reverse Promenade, Slide Through, Right-Handed Star. More smiles. Movements are more fluid and less self-consciousness. Too soon the music ends and we’re back at the first position. Holding hands, the square softens to a circle. Bowing slightly from the waist we shout, “Thank you!” as we straighten and raise our hands to the sky, to the light. Gratitude.
Night
Driving home in the dark we note the orange glow of the waning quarter moon as it nears the horizon. The orange-gold hue contrasts with the deep dark of the night. I briefly think of the plants who only bloom at dusk, who know what it’s like to wait for the light. Reassurance.