A dream: an owl flies overhead, while large and small figures
Credit: Wellcome Library, London.
Dreams are important to me. At the moment, I’m not talking about the dream I have of becoming a wealthy author with a quartz bathtub. I mean the dreams I have while sleeping.
A Rootworker friend says I “dream true.” I get messages in my sleep. Some of these are scary and there’s not much I can do about them. This week, the gift was a true gift and not one in the poetic ironic sense.Scary or not, I’ve learned to follow the dreams and not try too hard to decipher them. When I follow their lead, the dreams normally reveal themselves.
Photo by Liscannorman.
Two nights ago, I dreamed that a friend and colleague wove St. Brigid’s Crosses and put them in the ceiling beams of her home. This friend is a devout Christian Elder, but did not–to my knowledge–include Saint worship in her practice. She could have Irish heritage, but I wasn’t sure. I brought her a copper St. Brigid’s Cross, anyway. I wasn’t sure if she would accept the cross. Sometimes, friendly religious friends squirm a bit when I offer gifts that have any sense of Witchy on them. I didn’t want to creep her out, but the dream was strong. I followed it.
Stained glass, St. Joseph Catholic Church, Macon, Georgia, 1903
I explained it like this: “Brigid was a Goddess but also a Saint. One of her miracles was converting a Pagan Chieftain on his deathbed by weaving a cross out of rushes from the floor of his hut. I see it as a symbol of being able to change the world, using only what you have at your fingertips.” She sweetly accepted the cross and went about her business. I thought nothing more about it.
Today, I sat in on a lecture she gave in which she talked about the African Methodist Episcopal Church, where she is an Elder. She told the story about how the Black members of the local Methodist church were not allowed to sit with the main congregation or approach the altar. One day, the Black congregants approached the altar en masse, knelt and prayed, then left and started their own church.
“They held their services in a blacksmith shop,” she explained. “That is why today, the symbol of the AME church is the anvil.”
Anvil, photo taken in Welsh Museum, St. Fagans, Cardiff, Wales, UK by Zureks.
In the back row, I burst into tears.
I hadn’t know that the anvil was the symbol of the AME church. But it made sense. Another of Brigid’s symbols is the Anvil. I wrote a whole friggin’ section about it in Brigid. There was a bridge somehow–between my Celtic-influenced Neo-Pagan spirituality and her Christianity. I believe Brigid isn’t really interested in who’s Pagan, who’s Christian, or what. I think She knows where She wants Her blessings to go based on what is being done, not on who or what is being worshipped.
But for me, it was more than simple synchronicity. I’ve been tired lately. A decade of near non-stop activism: saving St. Brigid’s Church, marriage equality, Occupy Wall Street, eco-activism, rights for Transgender people, and #blacklivesmatter, not to mention running a Coven for nine of those years. Thorn Coyle has often said that running a group is its own form of activism. My friend’s presentation asked the participants, “What do you want people to join you in doing?” I’ve felt so burned out lately, I had no answer.
Sometimes when we’re burned out, we question if our Magickal experiences were real. Did those moments happen, or have we invented them in retrospect? I tell my Magickal stories so often that sometimes it feels like rote and repeat.
But today, through my dream and my friend, Brigid said, “I am here. I still work through you. I still love you.”
I must keep feeding my dreams.
If you’re in the Portland, OR area on June 25th, I’m leading a workshop on Brigid at If The Broom Fits. We’ll talk about Brigid’s Magick and honor the Summer Solstice through ritual. I’ll also have copies of the book for sale!
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