Searching for Brigid’s Well.

My older post on making Brigid's crosses HERE

Brigid’s Eve draws nearer and with thoughts of making crosses, I wandered down to the Lough Field to look at the reeds. 

Standing alone in this quiet place a phrase, spoken by a Donegal Seanchaí, came to mind:

“ There were two St Brigids.

There was St Brigid up in Kildare, but this is the Brigid from this place.”

This set me wondering about the Brigid who walks the land locally and who is remembered here in stories of stones, wells and small offerings. 

Stone by the roadside in Killeigh.

A local story relates that Brigid rested and left the imprint of her leg upon the stone.

St. Brigid’s Well, Rosenallis.

The saint is believed to have founded a church here and blessed the spring well.

Coins and white quartz at the well.

Brigid’s Cross made from reeds.

The old custom here was to make the cross from oak twigs, 

bind it with reeds and place it in the thatch for protection. 

St. Brigid was believed to have been born in Doire Aircean, Derryarkin, on the bog north of 

Croghan Hill, Co. Offaly and Brigid Begoibne, Brigid the Smith, had her workshop beneath the Hill. 

Another Brigid, not of fire but of healing waters, had a sacred well which flowed from Croghan.

In the distant past Croghan Hill emerged as an island from the surrounding lakes, a sacred place where water, earth and sky met. 

Map showing the Hill and bogland today.

A place where legends of the pagan goddess and saint intertwined. 

The Hill, reminiscent of a breast, appears to have long been a place of the sacred feminine.

The old name for the Hill is Cruachán Bri Éile, the prominent hill of Éile, an elusive mythological woman or goddess who was sister to Queen Maeve.

One source tells that the River Shannon erupted from a well, known as Linn Mna Feile, 

'the Pool of the Modest Woman’, sacred to Éile, found beneath Croghan. 

Several sacred wells were associated with the hill, some visible on old maps, though all but one are now lost. 

Only two old names were recorded Fuarán Well and Finneenashark Well, which cured headaches 

and was accompanied by an ancient Ash tree. 

With Lá Fhéile Bríde approaching I decided visit Croghan to search for clues to the whereabouts of
Brigid’s sacred well.

The Bronze Age mound upon the summit has never been excavated but is thought to contain 

the remains of Éile and her chariot. 

In local folklore it opens at Samhain, leading into the hollow hill and the Otherworld. 

Could this be the site of the elusive Well?

Croghan village.

I found the small village of Croghan and drove up the hill to view the site of St. Maccaille’s church, founded around 465 AD, and the remains of the cemetery.

In Christian lore it was here, at the hands of Maccaille, Bishop of Croghan, that St. Brigid received the veil.

Perched high on the hillside it is easy to imagine that the church was built here to claim the site 

from its’ pagan predecessors and proclaim the new religion.

A sacred well with a tree, seen in the illustration below, stood in the graveyard. 

This well was named for St. Maccaille, it’s older name unrecorded. 

Illustration via:  http://omniumsanctorumhiberniae.blogspot.ie/2013/04/saint-maccaille-of-croghan-april-25.html

 Did this well once belong Brigid ?

As the sky darkened I drove to the other side of the hill, to Glenmore, considered to be the place where earlier pagan veneration took place.  

Once a forested glen, three springs formerly emerged here from the rock of Croghan Hill, two of which rose beneath an ancient Ash tree.

My plan was to walk the land hereabouts looking for evidence of wells or bullaun stones, although 

I knew that two of the wells had long become dry. 

Driving uphill was fine until I approached the glen itself when the track became impassable by small car or even booted feet.

On a previous visit I had found the well, now dedicated to St. Patrick, 

although Brigid is still remembered here with fiery tinsel and a Brigid's Eye.

The older name for Patrick’s well is not recorded but like many other legendary Holy Wells, 

the water here will never boil and any stone taken from the site will return of its’ own accord. 

Disappointed I descended the Hill and stopped to look around the modern church of St. Brigid.
There was no sign nor information about her well but I did find a small stained glass panel of her.

Brigid holds her woven cross aloft in St. Brigid’s Church, Croghan.

My final glance at Croghan Hill was through dark, bare branches. 

I felt my way to Brigid’s Well was barred by too many changes or perhaps it had never existed at all.

Back home, by the fire, I dug deeper into an old book to discover that Brigid’s Well could once be found on the summit of Croghan, the exact location long forgotten. Her spring may even have been part of the mound's sacred space as it was in the passage tomb at Newgrange.

The story warned that if her well was ever discovered again the water would rise up violently to drown the cattle which graze upon its’ slopes, so it seemed fortunate that my search was fruitless.

***

When I closed my eyes that night images of the womanly hill appeared. 

Drifting towards sleep her well formed from the darkness, surrounded by ancient stones, shaded
by twisted branches, offering healing, reflection and respite from the modern world.

At the Sacred Well.

Brigid’s Well still flows within the Otherworld. 

The Many Coloured Land.

Yesterday, as daylight dwindled, I was sitting by the stove re-reading AE’s book

‘The Candle of Vision’ when my mind returned to the start of this year. 

I began 2016 here with a post dedicated to George William Russell, AE. 

His writing continued to inspire me through the bleak days of winter and later led me to seek out the Many Coloured Land, places of vision and creative power within myself and the landscape of Ireland.   

To read - Æ, artist & mystic - 

“And the old enchantment lingers in the honey-heart of earth.” LINK HERE

This January was icy but as daylight slowly grew I made preparations to honour Brigid on the Eve of her festival.

The cross was woven and set above the door. 

The brát was placed on the windowsill to catch her blessing as she emerged from nearby 

Croghan Hill, to walk the land. 

To read - "Brighid returns from the Otherworld" LINK HERE

The long desired greening had began by the time I travelled to Kildare, home of her eternal flame. 

Her fire pit held evidence of ritual 

and at Brigid’s Well I felt the rising of the year.

To read - "The promised Spring arrives" LINK HERE

In hindsight I now understand that water has flowed throughout my year. 

Visits to rivers, lakes, bogs and sacred wells have inspired me and strengthened my connection to the spirits of the land. 

I see now that it really began on the shores of Lough Gur, sacred to the goddess Áine. 

To read - LOUGH GUR - “a personality loved, but also feared.”

LINK HERE

Then on morning walks to my local river I spied white blossom on dark limbs.

The blackthorn blazed like pale spirits across the country.

To read "Blackthorn, dark sister of the May" LINK HERE

Pale primroses peeped from beneath hedges and gold glinted in the fields.

Bealtaine came nearer. I welcomed summer on May Eve in the old way by decorating a May bush 

and lighting a bonfire at twilight. 

To read - "The May bush ribbons dance as the Fairy Host pass by" LINK HERE

As the land brought forth her flowers and the sun stretched the evenings

I felt a strong pull towards water, the west and Irelands’ many sacred wells. 

To read - "Sacred water and three thousand Holy Wells" LINK HERE

To read - "By Stone, Whitethorn and Well" LINK HERE

One well in particular, Rathin Well in Co. Clare, was to connect me to a deep sorrow still felt
by many communities.

To read - "In silent need they searched for Holy ground" LINK HERE

The year turned towards harvest but water still drew me to loughs 

To read - "Lughnasa, loughs and a last salute to Summer." LINK HERE

and the dark bog spirits of the Midlands.

To read - "Dark Spirits of the Bog" LINK HERE

There were places where the Otherworld felt close

To read - "The Burren: Land of the Fertile Rock" LINK HERE

and a morning when I stepped into The Silence.

To read - "Otherworld Shenanigans: The Silence" LINK HERE

Throughout this years’ adventures The Cailleach, the Old Woman, has been close by.

She has threaded her way through images.

To read - "The Cailleach - Hag of the Mill & Mother of the Herd" LINK HERE

And words. 

To read - "A Samhain Story - The Lament of the Old Woman" LINK HERE

As I prepare to celebrate the birth of a new year she whispers in my ear -

“ There is more, much more yet to come. You have merely glimpsed the Many Coloured Land.” 

Outside The Cailleach traces frost upon the leaves but I know she has already planted 

the seeds of next years’ adventures.

Many thanks to you all for reading, following and commenting on this blog. 

May your New Year be filled with good food, good health & good company!

Tales from the Cailleach: The Lament of the Old Woman at Samhain.

I am known to my neighbours as the mad one who talks to the fairies and it is said I walk the roads 

whilst others sleep.

These same neighbours come to me for help with the troubles of country living; a sick mare, a lame cow or the strange event that preys upon the mind.

At these times I make the tea, stand the pot on the hearth and let the silence brew. 

I suggest a simple explanation for the opening door, the chill at the fireside or a room the dog won’t enter. 

Most times they are satisfied.

With others a pinch of truth is all that’s needed to recall piseogs and buried knowledge that goes on long into the night.

So I live amongst these people, not quite accepted by them, for I do not go to mass as they do 

nor hail the priest as father.

I keep to my own ways, spirit unbounded by men with rules and robes.

Now and then I catch a sharp glance from some busy farmer as I visit mound and thorn but they do not guess my secret.

Three times a year I leave my home in darkness, needing neither broom nor steed, I rise from bed 

to fly above the sleeping townland.

Whitethorn scent may rise to meet me or, as tonight, turf smoke greets my flight across grey fields.

Image by Peter Gordon at http://explorelight.com

Skimming winding river I am observed but not by human eyes. 

Deer, owl and hare all know my ways, the night is ours.

Over hidden valley and bald mountain top I rise to settle on the tumbled cairn. 

Below land stretches away in shades of darkness undisturbed.

A sigh, long and deep, escapes me. 

Eyes close to invoke Samhain long past when the people knew and held us close.

Heart heavy with old memories, sorrow gnaws at my breasts and I nurse it. 

Alone, unloved, forgotten in this modern world.

Bitter wind shakes me from the past. 

Keen-eyed again, I stretch my sight to spy the distant horizon. 

Far off, a shift, a smudge, disturbs my vision.

A wisp of smoke.   A soar of sparks.   Now a flare of yellow red. 

Tlachta’s fire is kindled !

One by one other heights reply; 

Teamhair, Cruacháin, Uisneach, Sliabh na Caillí, Cruachán Aigle and Binn Ghulbain. 

Sliabh gCuillinn, Sliabh Dónairt, twin fires upon Dá Chích Anann. 

Hill top beacons burst with fire. 

In valleys tiny flames wake as dormant village cross-roads ignite. 

A million flames, a rosary of fire across the land.

The old ways are remembered!

Three calls from sharp-mouthed Raven cleaves the silence, The Great Queen rises from her cave. 

Beneath Brí Éile Brigid’s forge is lit anew as one by one, across the night, mounds open 

and those who have never left return.

Here, upon the Height of Ireland, I stand tall again and at my side Manannán shares his secret smile with me. 

The tide has turned.

Samhain greetings to you all!

This story was inspired by reading ‘The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare’, an Irish poem written in the 10th century,
which led me to wonder if The Cailleach lived amongst us and if so, what sort of neighbour would she be?

This virtual film relates a version of the poem translated by the Celtic language scholar Kuno Meyer. 

In the ancient past the Samhain fire was ceremonially lit by the Druids on Tlachtga, the Hill of Ward in Co. Meath. 

It is believed that answering fires were also lit on other prominent places across the landscape.

In more recent times the Tlachtga ceremony has been rekindled and this short film shows part 

the ceremony in 2015. 

Taking a break at the village show

I have been engrossed in a new painting, which I'll post up when it's complete, but I left the studio to take 

a break as the sun was shining. 

Over the weekend the summer temperatures returned and we enjoyed one of the pleasures of rural Irish life - a visit to our annual village show.

As usual it was a wonderful mix of art, animals, baking and harvested produce and a great time was had by all.

Two of the show's founders enjoy the craic

Leaving the village we drove across the Slieve Bloom mountains to walk and enjoy the view, in the far distance we glimpsed the Hill of Tara, Croghan Hill and the Hill of Uisneach.

I'll see you soon with the new painting!