An Encounter with an Avatar of the Goddess Brigid

As far as Sabbat celebrations go, Imbolc was always one of my favorites (I love liminal markers in the shift between seasons, especially between winter and spring), but the Imbolc of exactly one year ago, 2020, will forever be cherished in my heart as the most spiritually poignant one I’ve ever experienced. I had a moment of profound epiphany that any contemporary Polytheist, of any tradition, would recognize the same way I had: a moment of instantaneous transformation wrought from an encounter with an earthly avatar of a very Living Deity, a vibrant Holy Power Who will always command my reverence and devotion even though the Gods of the Celts have, largely, remained elusive to me despite my many attempts at reaching out to know Them. I know in my heart that in the second floor hospital room of Condell Medical Center in Libertyville, Illinois, an avatar of Brigid knocked on the door and asked to be let in to comfort my suffering mom. And she came on Imbolc Day: February 2, 2020.

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Bean Sidhe

By way of editorial comment: This poem of mine was published in a Pagan poetry anthology, Datura, by U.K.-based occult publisher Scarlet Imprint (2010). “Bean Sidhe” is Gaelic for literally “Woman of the Fae,” which becomes our English “banshee.” With Samhain approaching and the temperatures getting decidedly cooler and the nights longer here in Chicago, She’s a liminal figure commanding my attention these days (and nights), especially when I hear crows cawing in my local cemetery. Enjoy!

938-Banshee_4pngBean Sidhe

Hunching down beneath a willow

I use my finger to stir a pool of stars

Unquiet memories give chase

To the white hart that bounds out of the forest

Worn etchings sigh

On the loose cairns toppled on the black heath



Studding the night with rumors of forgetfulness Continue reading

Whispers of Pele: Musings on Death and Rebirth During My Hawaiian Honeymoon, 2004

Whispers of Pele


The overpowering sulfur dioxide fumes that had been our constant companion since we’d entered Volcanoes National Park had certainly affected my respiratory system by three in the afternoon, making me wheeze with each intake of air during this, our third straight hour of hiking makai (towards the sea) as we neared the end of Chain of Craters Road. Continue reading


Sniff the roses one more time

Wipe the work surface clean

Click the keyboard keys line by line

Vent departmental spleen


The red-tailed hawk spirals high above

The three-legged coyote lopes across the parking lot

The miniscule turtle flares its nostrils in the stagnant pond

The blue heron poses beneath the willow fronds


I am the drifting cloud that shifts its shape

I am the discarded office chair

I am the motorist blocked by a mile-long freight train

I am the scythe of morning

I am the wisdom beyond the landscaped edge

I am the blood that smears clinical labyrinthine walls

I am the Silver Wheel that spins soul paths

(and the spinning hubcap, too)


Dust the sides of this gray cube

Fax the order clearly

Be transfixed by the hollow tube

Squander time so dearly