Sometimes I think about the Cailleach, the ageless one, the woman who is the Washer at the Ford. Sometimes I think about how it would be in her presence, and then I remember that she is always there. Out of the corner of my eye she sits, in the shadow of every tree. When the day grows darker and becomes that twilight, she dances in the dusky horizon. As the day dawns, as the darkness breaks and the iridescent blue hues open up to the lightening sky, she is dancing down the sidewalk, following the tide of shadows. I think about quiet mornings and soft evenings, I think about the shadows of the day, high noon as the sun burns, and the cool air under a tree, her presence is there. I think about these things, and it comforts me. Although the Cailleach knows my death and the Cailleach knows the agony of my heart, she is also the rebirth of me, the renewal of what I am. In her presence I feel the dance for life, for all that I am, for all that I have been, and all that I should be. I dance for her. She is in the secret of my heart. She is the goddess of what is hidden from me. She is the one that is hard to speak of, because she the closest to my truth. I want to know her more and yet she is the harshest to look at. I think about her in these times when my heart pains, when it’s difficult to breathe, my heart pounds, and I shake. I think about her when I feel the blood beneath my skin, when I feel my skeleton most keenly, and the earth beneath me. When I feel the deepest fear, she is there. I think of her and I am fine. Yet, she is the one who takes no altar, who wants no offerings. She is simply there and waits. All she wants is the memory of that and I am hers.

Cailleach
It is you I cry to as the cold bites my face
It is you, only you, who soothes my weathered skin
Sometimes when I stand tall, I shudder
You stand behind me, but for you I do not falter
In the dusk I stare into the dim, by your eyes I perceive

Didge, by only your leave do you hear a name
Wise, fortune, sorceress, nun, owl, veiled one, hag, all cling to you
It is in your ageless wonder, that the woman is felt, Sheela Na Gig
The birth of you, from the folds of Danu’s lips, a sense of self
Shape us from your ancient hills, give us valleys to caress
Breasts to lift our daughters tall, legs of solid rock left from your wicker
Make our faces stone, beautiful and hard, to face the harsh sun of Summer love
Then give us wings to beat the storm on high, land upon your frozen staff, deep inside our souls

Milucra, by your leave I kneel to you in hidden skin
Queen of Winter, Brighde’s kin, Old woman, wearer of the Snow Plaid, all the strength is yours
It is in you we find our being, that the child learns to bleed, Sheela Na Gig

Your lament on the children, in your cycles of youth, ancestress of many
My hope lies in finding you within myself, to know your strength, to feel your years
I do fear your presence in my house, but I dare not avoid taking you within
All must know your silent words; all must know the feel of our bones
As your men died of old age, you took them to the ford, and you watch your grandsons grow

Bui, by your leave I lay down on your hills in blood from within
Keeper of the stones of spring, One who opens the veil of realms, Midwife of Death
It is you who mirrors our deepest soul, ancestress of my soul, Sheela Na Gig

Washer at the Ford, standing with your feet deep into the roots
Stars thickening as you draw the veil of dusk around you
Kiss my mind with frost so that it may lull me to sleep
In the dark of my closed eyes, I dance for you, as I shake and my heart pounds
As my cells die, my fear dies, and I’m reborn each moment, in each new breath