She tells you her name is Brigid, she is the early Celtic goddess of healing, poetry, and fire, from the ancient lineage of Druids. She has woven ribbons of red, green and white, the colors of the Druid holiday season, into her silver braided hair. She speaks to you gently, slowly, thoughtfully, as she continues to watch the fire, saying:
“You have nothing to fear from the darkness, for she is your mother and the mother of the Light. Forget your burdens for a while. Take rest here. The light cannot return until the darkness is complete.”
You watch as she reaches into a bag and takes out some herbs. She holds the plants to her lips and murmurs a soft chant in a language you don’t recognize, then throws the herbs into the fire. Pungent smoke washes over you, and you grow sleepy. The old woman advises you to lie down and enter a dream state. You feel yourself pulled into a semi-sleep. As if from a faraway land, you hear her voice.