Celebrating Black History and Brigid

The Light in me honors the Light in Black Americans, that despite all attempts to extinguish it has not been snuffed out.

It’s Black History Month — and boy does it feel extra important this year as American histories, and present stories, are being twisted into all kinds of unrecognizable shapes.

The Light in me also honors the Light in women who, like me, come from cultures where spiritual women, leaders, and healers were hunted, tortured, killed, and silenced.

Saturday, Feb. 2, was Brigid’s Day, a holiday that many white people in the U.S. who have some Indigenous Celtic heritage (myself included) are rediscovering, as we seek to reclaim what was lost.

Our experiences and the experiences of our ancestors are not the same. I’m not claiming that.

In particular, as a white American, woman with all kinds of privileges, my experience in this lifetime bears little resemblance (in regards to the oppression and violence I experience directly) to that of African Americans.

And what is striking to me about both of these stories, as they weave together in this month, is the importance of roots.

And the importance of land, which is where literal roots grow.

Down deep into actual soil, in a specific place.

Trees don’t grow in multiple places at once. Nor can every kind of tree grow in every kind of climate.

What happens to humans who have been torn from the lands of their ancestors?

Or are forced to leave their homes in search of safety?

Or when they are violently disconnected from their spiritual soil?

At this moment in history, we are seeing what I hope and believe to be the death throws of capitalist, white supremacist colonialism.

That is, if as a collective we choose to make it so.

Colonialism says, “Your land - and your body - is mine. I can take what I want from it, bring it back to my home, and use it as I wish.”

But the European/American colonialist project ultimately has not been able to fully snuff out all that it has deemed “uncivilized” or “savage” or otherwise “unworthy.”

Tragically many individual lives have been lost and continue to be.

Many precious documents, stories, songs, pieces of art, languages, and traditions have been lost.

But always there have been those who resolved to protect what they knew to be true, good, and valuable regardless of what those in power had planned for it.

They buried precious writings that would otherwise have been destroyed, hoping they would one day be found.

They shared traditions and wisdom orally.

They adapted rituals from home and created new forms in new lands in the cruelest of circumstances, hidden in plain sight.

In the case of Brigid, a pagan goddess was transformed into a form more acceptable to those in power — a human Christian saint, Brigid of Kildaire.

As I write today I have this image in my mind of a plant ripped up from the ground, roots dangling in the air, broken, parched, and shriveling.

Where do you feel uprooted from your own story and that of your ancestors, the soil of your being?

Do you feel your soul-roots dangling in the air, your spirit just barely hanging on to life?

If so, it’s time to use your imagination and your curiosity to get those roots back into some rich, fertile soil. Here are some ideas:

Learning and sharing more of your personal and family history is a way to reclaim roots - even if you don’t have all the details you want to have because of the violence of removal and silencing.

Do some research into spiritual practices and rituals that were common in the cultures your ancestors came from. When you feel an ah-ha of recognition in your heart, follow it.

Learn our collective and shared histories — this month is a great time to focus on the history of the Black experience in America.

Finally, I want to invite you to come together in the re-imaging of our situation right now.

Let’s choose to imagine, not that we are at the mercy of those who seek to kill and destroy, but that we are at a threshold that can take us in an entirely different direction.

Let’s imagine our roots connecting into Mother Earth and finding all that we need, perhaps even curling around secret treasures that have been hidden for just a time as this. Close your eyes. Pause. Really feel this in your body.

Imagination is a powerful tool. You are infinitely powerful and your focus has a powerful impact.

Let’s not let the imaginations of those who are currently in power — and they have some BIG and grotesque things they are imagining — dictate where our energy goes. What vision it feeds.

Let’s put the power of our collective imaginations — the collective imagination of women, gender non-conforming humans, Jewish people, disabled people, people in brown and black bodies, immigrants, and others who know what it’s like to be uprooted and discounted — towards the building of an entirely new way of being.

Let’s imagine the fall of the Age of Empire. Let’s imagine the rise of Beloved Economies and thriving communities.

Let’s slow down and root deep and rise strong.

Here’s to thriving and equity, and not letting the chaos define what we imagine for the future,

Loving you all so hard.