Imbolc-A Druid Meditration

The following is a Druid invocation for Imbolc which was forwarded to the Missouri Druid Alliance by group owner Shadowhawk.

With your eyes closed, take a few moments to breathe and
feel your place on the Earth.

Close your inner eyes and when you open them, find yourself
standing in the corner of a meadow bordered by a mixed hedge. The
ground slopes away from you towards a wood that lies just beyond a small
stream. It's winter and the meadow grass looks tired and flat; but
cobwebs tangle the dry and rattling remains of willowherb,
meadowsweet and hogweed, catching the last of the light as
the sun sinks behind the trees. You see your breath rise in clouds
of vapour and the air feels cold and damp against your face, but you
are dressed warmly for your journey. From where you stand,
there is no obvious way into the wood, but as you start towards it, you
notice a robin perched in the top of a hawthorn beside you. He cocks
his head and makes his fluted call as though in greeting, then flits
a few yards further on; pausing to look back.

You take this as an invitation to follow him and so begin
to make your way along the line of the hedge towards the place
where the stream emerges from among a stand of trees. You can see
enough in the failing light to identify hazel with its hanging yellow
catkins and elder with its tangle of gnarled branches, but they are
dominated by a group of alders, their catkin-laden branches making
distinctive patterns against the clear sky. As you come closer, you
notice how the roots of the alder reach into the stream; allowing the
water to flow through them and yet the trees stand secure and solid.

A blackbird, disturbed by your presence, flies from the
bramble thicket, calling in alarm and draws your attention to a
deer track through the scrubby undergrowth on the other side of the
stream. You cross, using the support of the alder branches for help and
then start to make your way into the wood, your feet crunching
softly on the forest floor.

There is much less light here and you begin to feel a
little apprehensive, not sure of your destination. Crouching low
to avoid the snagging branches, you can just make out the track
through the trees as it winds its way up a slope, through the damp and
decaying leaf litter. There are more mature trees here; you can feel
their age and the weight of their presence above and around you as
you make your way onward. Soon the gloom turns into true darkness
and you feel your way forward with each step; using your hands as you
climb the slope, the rich scent of the earth fills you with each
breath. You seek the peace of your intention within yourself and
whisper to the spirits of the forest to guide you and, raising your eyes,
you see a pale glimmer ahead of you.

You make towards it in wonder, discovering a clearing at
the top of the incline which is carpeted by snowdrops, seeming to glow
under a quarter moon. You murmur your thanks to the spirits and
move to sit in the shelter of the tangled roots of an old oak tree,
wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. Beneath the benign gaze of
the moon, with the solid presence of the oak against your back, you
begin to drift into a trance-like state.

You feel yourself sinking; down. Down into the leaf litter
beneath the mighty oak. Down into the cold, damp earth. Down into
the dark.
You are small. A tiny seed in the heart of the forest and
you feel the press of the Earth all around you as you sleep safe
within her
womb. Your brothers and sisters are all gathered around you
and you can hear the soft humming of their song joining with your
own as you dream beneath the frost of winter.

It is hard to say what changes, but suddenly there is a
stirring; the first tiny flickering of wakefulness sends out shimmers
through the darkness. You hear a change in the cadence of the song and
know that your brothers and sisters are waking and you respond.
Tentatively, you stretch out; unfurling from your foetal ball, drawing
energy from the remembered songs of summer and the earth around you,
you begin to push upward. You can feel the weight of winter pressing
down on you, but you have untold power within your tiny form and you
push against it, seeking to break through, as the songs of your siblings
draw you ever onward into wakefulness.

Suddenly you feel the first touch of warmth on the crown of
your head and you find a new strength. Stretching upward, you raise
your arms to embrace the first rays of the sun; your head bowed in
honour, yet fully awake and alive to his presence and blessed by his
message of hope for new life…

The robin trills somewhere close by and you are aware once
more of your human form, resting against the oak tree. Opening your
eyes, you see the dawn light bringing a glow to the sea of pale
flowers all around you. You feel a kinship with them and the air seems
to be full of their soul song and the story of their growing. You give
thanks and reach into your pocket for a gift; an offering to the
forest.

Then, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs, you rise
from your resting place beneath the oak and face the sunrise,
revelling in even the small warmth it offers after the chill of the night.
You breathe deeply in the frosty air, allowing it to dispel the last
clinging traces of sleep and make you fully alert and aware of the
world around you.

As you make you way down the slope between the trees, it
strikes you how different the woods look in the morning light. Great
tits call to one another in the branches above you and somewhere ahead,
you can hear the chattering song of the wren. You follow the deer
track to the edge of the wood, hearing the music of the stream by
the foot of the alders and, coming closer, you see more clearly the
patterns made by the flow of the water.

You pause to give thanks for all you have been shown and
then cross the stream and make your way back up through the meadow. As
you climb, slowly become aware of your physical body; feel
yourself here upon the earth; become aware of the space around you.
Return to this place alert and refreshed.

© The Druid Network 2003-2008