As March breathes those final breaths, I’m recalling how this month was the one where the Celts would go in search of “sweet water,” those springs that have sloughed off their mostly frozen nature and gush forth with intensity.

They knew that the end of March meant leaning more into life than into stasis, and they would bodily take the pilgrimage to different waters around their land to pull from the pools. Wisdom was in the water, or so they thought. Life was in the water.

When a babe was born in the Scottish isles, or even in the Highlands on the mainland, a midwife would take a bit of this water gathered from various sources (or, sometimes, from the main local source that fed the village) and would say this nine-fold blessing over the child, dotting the head of the infant with a drop of the water with each line:

A small wave for thy form,
A small wave for thy voice,
A small wave for thy sweet speech;

A small wave for thy luck,
A small wave for thy good,
A small wave for thy health;

A small wave for thy throat,
A small wave for thy pluck,
A small wave for thy graciousness;
Nine waves for thy graciousness.

As we begin to open our windows to greet the coming April, I’m thinking that we’re leaning into life, too.

I’m hoping we are.

In Celtic tradition, the month of March is associated with the great ash tree. The ash tree is one of three trees that the pre-Christian Celts held sacred (ash, oak, and thorn), and according to tradition, Yggdrasil, the “world tree” was an ash tree from which all life was birthed.

Because ash trees are so tall, they were seen as the connection between the heavens and the earth, and therefore were understood to be powerful symbols of good in the world. In fact, it was rumored in ancient times that snakes were so afraid of the ash tree that they wouldn’t even slither over its shadow.

Snakes are an interesting evil symbol, too, until you remember that in the ancient world the snake was very scary: quiet and often venomous. It would attack you in your sleep, often looking for warmth in the bed of a person. Or it might strike you in the field, shaded by the grass.

Our modern zoological minds may wonder at this ancient symbol of evil, but our pre-modern ancestors just knew “stay away!” This, and its unusual form, is why it’s often a representation of evil in the ancient world. After all, snakes are not bad creatures, just misunderstood by humans who think they have to understand everything.

Celts would often carry ash leaves in their pockets to ward off evil, and would sometimes put ash leaves in their shoes to help with foot problems.

Beyond the magical and practical, though, the metaphorical can speak to our lives today. The ash tree can be a reminder for all of us to tap into our strengths in this month of March, trying to balance our lives a bit, bridging the heavens (ideals) and the earth (reality) of our being.

Today is the Vernal Equinox, and we find nature yelling “balance!” as March oscillates between warm and cool, trying to decide how it will birth April.

Today the sun and the moon will show the weather by example how to find equilibrium.

On the Equinox my Celtic Christian ancestors would bless the brief balance seen in the sky. Even the ancients knew that balance is rare in life.

So here’s a blessing for balance by Celtic poet John O’Donohue:

For Equilibrium

Like the joy of the sea coming home to shore,
May the relief of laughter rinse through your soul.

As the wind loves to call things to dance,
May your gravity be lightened by grace.

Like the dignity of moonlight restoring the earth,
May your thoughts incline with reverence and respect.

As water takes whatever shape it is in,
So free may you be about who you become.

As silence smiles on the other side of what’s said,
May your sense of irony bring perspective.

As time remains free of all that it frames,
May your mind stay clear of all it names.

May your prayer of listening deepen enough
To hear in the depths the laughter of God.

(from To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings)

My morning meditation:

“Whatever happens, stay alive.
Don’t die before you’re dead.
Don’t lose yourself, don’t lose hope, don’t loose direction. Stay alive, with yourself, with every cell of your body, with every fiber of your skin.

Stay alive, learn, study, think, read, build, invent, create, speak, write, dream, design.
Stay alive, stay alive inside you, stay alive also outside, fill yourself with colors of the world, fill yourself with peace, fill yourself with hope.
Stay alive with joy.

There is only one thing you should not waste in life,
and that’s life itself…”

~ Virginia Woolf

March is often a wet and blustery month. In primary school we learned that March comes, “In like a lion, and out like a lamb.”

Though that school was a very strict kind of Christianity, the deep truth that teacher (much beloved by me still) remains: March to the ancient Celts was known as a temperamental month. In fact, those born in March were known to be ones of swings in mood (and their mirror companions born in October are the same).

But with all the drenching wetness of March came a realization that all bodies of water, no matter how big or small, are of a sacred nature.

Water is life, Beloved. The ancient Celts knew this, and often named their waters after the godesses and gods they found gave life. There are still tons of rivers on those ancient islands named after Brigid (the feminine yang to Patrick’s yin) and others.

The amniotic fluid of birth, the well of life, the river of eternal life in scriptures: water was known by those ancestors, and still known today, as the thing that sustains.

Water is life.

Water is a right. For everyone on the planet.

We all have a right to clean water.

It’s why we don’t baptize in whiskey or Coke.

The ancients knew this, and March is the season to embrace the truth.

The world needs to catch up to the ancient wisdom.

For the ancient Celts, March was the second month of Spring on the wheel of the year. For them the seasons blossomed like a flower, slowly coming into their own, with that middle month in the triad being the hinge point.

March was the season where the candles were no longer needed at night, and so they’d ceremoniously put them away as a family. Some would even replace the wax candle on the family table with a wooden candle, a reminder for them that they need not strain their eyes at night anymore and were welcome to re-adopt the rhythm of the sun and the moon as their clock.

In mid-March, near the Vernal Equinox, each family would gather in their field, and sometimes whole clans would gather in a shared plot, and facing the sun they’d drop the first seeds in the ground to start the harvest, beginning with grains and root vegetables. Then they’d grab some soil, mix it with some ash from their home hearths, and paint the backs of their beast with the dirt invoking Divine blessing on their work. It was a blessing of both gratitude for the gift of the animal, and a pleading prayer for a prosperous harvest.

March is still a time of preparation for humans. The snow is melting in many places, though we know that there will probably still be snows to come. Ground is being broken, though we know we can’t go into full-planting mode yet. Windows can stay open for brief periods of the day, though a full-on breeze would still be too chilly for many.

But things are changing, Beloved. The Celts understood how to lean into and embrace the change. They welcomed the natural changes of life.

We should, too.

In Celtic spirituality, February is associated with the rowan tree. Its red berries were thought to guard against all sorts of bad things.

They’d put rowan branches on their cattle sheds and dairy barns to keep the meat and milk fresh and free of disease, and across Celtic lands crosses of rowan twigs were tied with red thread and carried in pockets or sewn into the linings of coats for traveling mercies.

Since the saint of the month, Saint Brigid, was associated with flame and fire, the blazing red berries were thought to be little glimpses of her favor.

I found a modern Celtic prayer to say under the Rowan Moon (February’s moon). And since it’s the last day one can say it, I thought I’d throw it out there.

What I love about this prayer is that, while images of Christ/love and the sun are really common, we don’t get many images of Christ/love being seen in the moon. But in the month where the moon still outshines the sun, it makes sense to have a prayer that highlights this truth, right?

Bright glory, bright moon,
the moon that shines on Brigid,
lamp of the poor,
love, light,
illumined by God.
Bright moon of glory,
teach me good purpose
toward all creation.
Bright moon of grace,
teach me good prayer
in accord with Christ’s heart.

Fiery moon of great light,
be in my heart
be in my deeds
be in my wishes.
Teach me your grace.
Bright moon over Brigid,
your light my hope,
your light on my purpose here,
in accord with God’s satisfaction.

Bright fire, bright moon,
point my heart to God’s repose.
Point me to my rest,
with the Son of Tranquility.

In the Roman calendar, February was a late addition.

Put at the original end of the calendar year (in the first ordering), February is not named for a Roman god or goddess, but rather for the work of one of those who already had a month named after them.

June had been named for the goddess Juno, so when February was tacked on to the end of the calendar year, they decided to honor the deity again by naming it “Juno Februata” which means “Juno Who Burns with Feverish Love.”

It got massaged into “February.”

Sticking this month at the end of the calendar was an attempt to make a fresh start for those who followed it, with love burning all the mishaps and foibles of the previous year, entering Spring as a baby. Today we’ve lost a bit of this, though happenstance does place Valentine’s feast day in the middle of this odd hinge month.

February now acts as a swinging door between Winter and Spring, and perhaps the love of the month is best seen in the frost that gives way slowly, in increments, to the budding green stems full of new life potential.

Celtic Christian three-fold wisdom for this time in February:

“Three slender things that best support the world:
the slender stream of milk from a cow’s udder into the pail;
the slender blade of green corn upon the earth;
the slender thread in the hand of a skilled person.

Three sounds of increase:
the lowing of a cow;
the pound of a hammer;
the swish of a plow.

The three lights that illumine every darkness:
truth; nature; knowledge.”

In America this may be Groundhog’s Day, but in Celtic spirituality these days are known as Imbolc, or “in the belly,” because you’re at the halfway point between the equinox and the solstice, and you’re emerging into spring.

Christians celebrate Candlemas today, where new candles are blessed, as the ones lit at the Solstice are now spent. And in services many will hear about the Presentation of Christ, where the ancient prophets Simeon and Anna lift him up and bless him as the light of the world.

The symmetry is stunning and intentional.

These hinge days between seasons are worth paying attention to, as our mothers and fathers did.

So bless your new candles, because you’ve spent the old ones in these winter days, and start opening the shades.

It’s time to wake from our hibernation, blink, and live again.