Naomi Brosnan

A windy night with the fences banging their weight against the concrete…I like the sound, a natural composition making itself heard here in suburbia. The elemental force behind it trembles  my soul, reacting in delight at Her presence…The Smith, The Poet, The warrior. In older memory still she is known as The Shining One with the blood of the Faye running through Her. She is, in our beautiful celtic way scattered throughout the land and the spirit , a part of who we are without thinking.

Her night, a marker in the dark haze of an uncovering winter, a seed of light for the spirit to see, an idea for the mind to hold. And for the imagination of the future that will be. Bridget holds us this night ( those who would be held ) and kisses our prayers with the dew. She creates a space where it is easier to trust the light that you feel, this is ancient knowledge settled into the night. A womb to grow those fragile hopes in a tangible way, where the bright gentle ideas have tenure. Innocence makes a gallant return to the stage where her bed is waiting. She is full of that pure desire to live and dream.

Remembering the nights that have gone before, some in silence and some in splendor, these accrue to an inherent  sense of responsibility  gathering in my blood, gathering in my years. I am touching upon a place of peace. Releasing old barriers from their posts, creating space along the way.

As I approach this idea in my head like an animal who has dreamed a dream. Waking in a foreign place full of intangible conflicting notions that belong to some other race. Devoid of trust and belonging one is easily pulled into the quagmire of lies and deceit, the concept of truth drowned out by false need. Manufactured desire and fear that is packaged, promoted and mass produced. Real need buried beneath  the multitude of lies and twisted truth. There is always some seed of truth in the foundation, rather like the many churches built on top of old old sacred sites. Sites that are connected to the very core of our planet, places where the human spirit can look upon itself and really see. This mirror remains untarnished by any  force that may wish to conceal it. The power remains in the stillness that must be achieved in order to see with any real depth. Like bird watching for the soul, you must be in one place long enough to really have your boots sunk in.

The stillness within is key, as we move at incredible speeds through the solar system. All is in motion, constant changing and exchanging of energy. This stillness is not governed by physical science, it lies on another very different plane altogether, closer to the secrets of chaos and creation. In the realm of the heart is where the spirit shines at it’s very brightest. And here in the darkest part of the year that light shines long and bright. The tipping point of the year, a vision of the luminous souls in flight. Lanterns lit and released into the air, small groups of people huddled outside to bring in the roman new year. The cold and beautiful night alive with floating prayers of hope and spirit strong. They all journey towards the south-east to gather together. The bright flames becoming embers in the sky, shining like the stars, they make new constellations in the sky. Never more than seven converge on this night, their constellations made by human hands appear bright and true amongst the older residents. A torrent of hope and wonder washed through me, the sense of belonging in me deeply felt. I gleefully belong here x

Forming Trust