Montmellick and Brigantia

I call her Brigitta, as that is a modern name and it is now that women must shuffle reality. That, it appears is our only hope. And it is long overdue. We are simply not on the right trajectory. I don’t think anyone will argue with that.

Brigid, Bride, Brid was one of the great Celtic goddesses of poetry, healing, wisdom, prophecy and smithcraft. Not only a visionary, but she had the skills to make sure the vision could manifest. She has been invoked over the years by many very different tribes of people who have felt her presence. The Druids, those who danced in these hills invoked her in ceremony.

That is another theory for the rings of stone found here and there across the Irish landscape. They are a sacred circle where women gathered and gathered together their energy, synergising power to effectuate goals. Although the Church did its best to oppress all females, relegating them to powerless positions, going as far as to burn strong women they felt were challenging their authority, branding them as witches, the Church has never been able to fully obliterate the strength Brigid symbolized. And so, the Catholics melded her into the identity of an Abbess of Kildare in the 5th century, and those who followed her absorbed the goddess’s attributes into her by keeping a scared flame at Kildare, blessing holy wells, and feasting at Imbolc, February 1, at the return of days of longer light. The Christians rebranded Imbolc as Candlemas. She survived and even strengthened. Only recently, the Catholic Church formally recognized her as a co-patron saint of Ireland, Saint Brigid. The first recorded recognition of her existence were inscriptions in stone left by the Roman centurions conquering Britain in the first century. (To place this in perspective, her co-patron saint, Patrick was on his zealous rebranding kick in the late 4th century.) The largest Celtic tribe in Britain were the Brigantes and they called her, their protective deity, Brigantia. By revering her in their inscriptions to the goddess Brigantia and more explicitly involving her protection as a nature goddess, to the goddess nymph Brigantia, the Romans covered their bases and invoked her spirit in their favor.

In case you are wondering, because you don’t feel that you regularly receive spiritual messages, it is not difficult to feel the presence of the gods and goddesses surrounding you. You can perform rituals if you feel the need. Just don’t use the word “ritual”. These days, “session” or “therapy” are a better selection. The real deal is that if you are still, and allow the quietude to surround you and cleanse you, if you open yourself to the possibility that the world is a magical place and that your very existence is an unfolding miracle, then you feel them. I hiked to the Ridge of Capard because as I mentioned rumor has it there are fairy forts in the woods and pastures there. This is Druid Country and when you climb the ridge above Rosalenalles you can understand why they chose this place to work their magic. To chant worlds into being. If you are going to choose a place to meditate on changing the consciousness of the world, one like this, with many viewpoints looking far out over valleys and mountains beyond is a fine one. It feels sacred. These spaces hold power radiating from the earth. It is a perfect situs for a ring of women to gather together their power and chant worlds into existence. 

I think reading that Trump had stripped the extra six months of secret service protection outgoing President Biden, seeing the thugs coming into office and Trump’s propensity for leading them into hateful vengeance and insurrections, made sure his Vice President Kamala Harris would have, was a tipping point for me. The ready willingness to oppress women, even to violate them, publicly admitted and accepted by his followers… though instigated by an overt sexist and convicted felon, well this disrespect was beyond the pale. Beyond even pussy grabbing you might ask? These are violent times.

Brigitta told me in no uncertain terms that it is time for women to reclaim their position of power. Think about it, someone told me. In times past, the men would go out hunting and the women had to insure the safety of the village. This involved being ready at any moment to defend or skidaddle, taking along what was needed for survival. Look around you at the role women must play in rearing families and insuring their husbands stay on track. Our skill set is impressive.

Before beginning the uphill climb, I stopped at the underwhelming well of St. Brigid’s. It is camouflaged on the Main Street. Searching for it, I walked right by. Even locals don’t realize that this is a well purportedly blessed by Saint Brigid, which is a rather big thing in the Catholic religion. She was a nature spirit. She blessed every spring and brook she looked at. To many there is a healing power endowed when a saint intentionally blesses a spring or well and that power is eternal to all who seek redemption of any sort, of physical ailments or ailments of the soul. We’ve all heard the stories of miracle associated with healing springs.

I found it underwhelming as no spring water was gushing forth. I heard of it from Collette Conroy Dunne, who collected vials of to fresh for the St Brigid Eve ritual celebrated by a group of local women. She is the receptionist at the church where I am staying. I came to Montmellick because my mother, God rest her soul, believed this is where the Conroy tribe was from. Naturally, the first person I met was a Conroy. She said she came from County Connemara as well. After I recounted the story of what I had learned about the Conroy Travelers, she pointed out that there are different strains of Travelers and there is a sect of Irish origin as well. This I acknowledged. But those weren’t who we were talking about in our story. Ours were the Conroys who emigrated from Ireland during the potato famine and intermingled with fortune-tellers and tarot card readers, astrologers and dancers, that is, they hooked up with the gypsies from the fairs that came though Newcastle, England. Our lineage now had the blood and genes of the Dom, who traced their roots to Rajahstan and Punjab, traveling westward through Persia into the Middle East: Iraq, Syria, Turkey and across North Africa: Egypt, Tunisia, Morocco. There were two different tribes of Conroys, she said then. Well, were yours the descendants of ConMac (a warrior in his own right and the son of the famous Ferguson mac Roich and Queen Medb of Connacht), the tribe of ConMac by the sea? Is it worth mentioning here that Oscar Wilde called Connemara a place of savage beauty? At this point, she diverged, became more Amy-like. Potato, potawta. Are our inner stirring memories of past lives as in reincarnations or of past lives stored in our DNA? What does it even matter if we can’t know? 

And so while I had come on this quest because my mother felt the Conroys were from here. There are indeed Conroys all over Ireland. I met a man from the Burren in County Clare who said that he knows at least fifteen families of Conroys out his way. I think the familiarity my mother felt here were the Druids. Their presence is powerful and they make you feel at home, at one with the earth. 

The space I am sleeping in and writing this in is a sacred space as well. A church. It feels holy and serene.