“Bless me Father, For I have ….”

Bless me Father,  for I  still have visions of fish bones.

The spectacle of fishbones stuck in my throat,
 robbing me or my family of the ability to breathe,
 with the offending bone growing larger by the second.
 This vision sent me to church on St. Blaise’s’ Day with great urgency.  It urged me into the confession box 
so that I might also have communion as extra protection,
 along with Saint Blaise, to protect me from a death 
caused by fishbones in this instance, stuck in my throat.

In early memories, dad carried me to church, 
and I was two or three years old. Dad had explained about Saint Blaise.  I remember the candles crossed at my timid neck as I knelt
 and breathed in a sigh of relief, sure to be safe for another year. 
I worried that my mother wasn’t with us, her not being Catholic, and hoped 
my fervent prayer would extend the blessing and protection to her as well.


Gravestone in the Glencolumkille churchyard, Donegal.

Now, the truth is, I sat down to write a piece about Brigit, both Goddess 
and Saint. Brigit has more fine stories and followers than you could shake a stick at 
and far more than St. Blaise, who turns out to be Armenian bishop who was martyred, and lived
 roughly a few hundred years before Saint Brigit was in Ireland as a saint. Personally, I find this 
interesting, as I’m half Irish and half Armenian, and here haven’t I split the celebrating and thanking between them, always. One bringing hope and protection, the other to guard my Irish throat against the many hidden fish bones lurking in our suppers. This is a link that will take you to information on St. Blaise:

Now, in a happier tradition for myself, with Brigit, I enjoy having some seed packets ready for planting. I’ll say a prayer over them, and light candles.  I’ll give the wood stove a good cleaning, and set a fine fire. I’ll imagine the first stirring of life in the seeds, although it’s too early for planting here, aside from a few things begun indoors.  I sit comfort of the fire, feed it birch so it burns brightly, and make a bit of music to honor the woman who crossed over party lines to work both as Goddess and Saint so powerfully.     This is a link  to a bit more information:

Welcome to my home, hearth, and blog,
  Brigit. And give my best to St. Blaze, as I’ve always thought of him, as well.

About elainereardon

Poet, writer, gardener, herbalist, pottery, painting—bumping into magic, peeking around new corners.
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