Garden of Peace
There is something in a Celts' nature that can never be satisfied with any but the highest and deepest measures of soul. There is nothing middling, shallow or myopic, about its true spirit. Once you've felt your blood stir in a great "remembrance"- well, your foot has stepped into Faerie realms and the rest, will never be the same.
Last evening, I suddenly experienced an insight and understanding towards the practice of hearth-keeping and Flame-tending.
I lit some incense, took three slow, deep breathes and then with my hands, 'shaped' the air above it, as if it were the still-warm ashes of an ancient peat fire. First, forming it into a circle and then, dividing it into three equal parts. This was followed by symbolically placing a fresh peat turf between the sections and then, covering the whole with the rest of the ashes, to keep it preserved through the night.
And that's when it hit me.
The hearth fire is really heart-fire; it is smoldering within us, down through the ages preserved and dormant, ready to be re-ignited and drawing upon the wisdom and deeds of our Ancestors' imbas- inspiration.
I placed my hands over my heart and simply took this in.
It has been waiting all this time, since the Clearances, since the evictions and since the diaspora which ensued. Like a deep and hidden peat fire burning year after untold year; waiting, eager for our breath to call it back into being.
~With a whispered prayer and a gentle fanning, the flame of Home - springs to life!~