The Fire Sermon: On Brighidine Priesthood
In which I expound on the calling I felt, and the trajectory of my Brighidine practice moving forward.
In my hands, the amber clatter of my Ogham set catches the warming glow of sunlight. I ponder… 2024 was a year marked by many things. Some manner of spotlight (publications, conferences and podcasts), exposure which always feels somewhat uncomfortable. The appearance of fierce new allies in my spiritual ecosystem - warrior-saint and battle-hardened sovereignty goddess chief amongst them. The ways in which I was drawn to show up and stand up for my community both publicly and behind the scenes - holding ritual space, severing relationships, and becoming more vocal about collusive dynamics and manipulative behaviours I observed in the occult world (I know them, for I used to frequent such circles and participate in those happenings: we can do better). The unmistakable requirement, in fact, the need, to teach, transmit, and mentor in the tradition that is closest, nearest, and dearest to my heart. Lastly, and just as importantly, 2024 marked a turning point for me religiously - with the dawning reality of a sudden, undeniable call, slowly but surely becoming impossible to ignore… and perhaps the natural progression of my own theurgical aspirations.
This should come as no surprise to those of you who follow my work closely, and I have, indeed, hinted at it here and there as my magico-religious explorations unfolded. I feel safe now to lay things out in the open for the first time: I am confidently stepping on the path of Brighidine priesthood.
I say confidently… but in truth, one part of me feels ready, one part of me doesn’t. Yes, I have been a devotee of Brighid for a number of years now (almost 12 on the clock, I can’t believe how old I am starting to be). But the way I see it, priesthood is not a private, solitary thing, it is not the quiet, intimate devotion and relation between one and their gods, or at least, not just that. Priesthood is not (just) an inward movement: it is a role - an outward reach… like a flame leaping up.
Whose priest.ess ?
With a few scattered exceptions, there is no ordination, no temple, no training provided, and (almost) no resources on the subject matter of pagan priesthood. As a religious group (and I mean by that the pagan / polytheist communities as a whole), we are not organised or homogenous enough to allow for this - yet.
There are obvious difficulties in making this happen, the first of which being around our diversity, preserving the specificities of each tradition. We cannot turn to Christianity to inform our way ahead and yet, for a lot of us in the Western world, this is the only model we have known. And while many traditions in Reconstructionist circles draw heavily from primarily Greco-Roman models of priesthood, for us walking on a “Celtic” path, one that is very much its own thing but also, to an extent, influenced by syncretised Gallo-Roman practices, things become even more complex and varied, certainly difficult to generalise. “Celtic” cultures and tribes featured a wide diversity of experiences and ritual practices with magic and the gods across space and time (Gaul is not Britain, Ireland is not Wales, etc.). This makes it challenging to apply a one-size-fits-all framework.
The second main issue, I believe, is the lack of consensus within contemporary pagan or polytheistic communities about the function of priesthood itself - coming up with a global way to narrow down its purpose, its duties in our communities: what it is, what it should be, what it should do. So how could there be a common recognition of associated structures or formalised roles ? That is a problem we have yet to address.
As a woman interested in priesthood, one also has to grapple with the all-pervasive “High Priestess” legacy, the sacred feminine question, and, if you are ever so slightly magically inclined, Wicca of course. For women drawn to become priestesses, there are, I feel, additionnally unique and often unspoken challenges rooted in the centuries-long estrangement existing between women and formal magico-religious authority. In much of Western history, particularly under the influence of Catholicism, priestly and sacramental power was institutionally reserved for men, severing women from roles of spiritual mediation, ritual leadership, and theological interpretation. This exclusion wasn’t just theological, it was also very much a social one, with deeply damaging psychological impact - contributing to shape how women were allowed to even relate to power and to the sacred. As a result, contemporary women seeking to reclaim this mantle, women like me, may find themselves navigating both a revival and a resistance: reclaiming ancient threads of spiritual authority, while also contending with internalised and external barriers shaped by a long legacy of denial. I know that no small amount of my ambivalence stems from excatly that, and I’d like at this stage to give a big shout out to healing nature of the work of Ottavia from Symboliste Pèlerine: her extensive, dedicated research on the sacred roles of women throughout history is doing a great service to our community.
Priesthood is both an internal and external calling - that much is true. But in essence, declaring oneself a priestess also serves as a practical way to signal a specific set of roles and responsibilities, allowing the community to recognise the functions associated with the title. In practice, though, what can a priest.ess do that you wouldn’t be able to do as just a regular devotee or votary ? Well… not a lot per se - which is not to say priest.esses aren’t needed, for it is true that not all devotees want to or need to become priest.esses, either. Whilst priesthood is always an act of service to the gods and to the people, it involves multiple schools of thought and approaches, highlighting the multifaceted nature of religious roles. My dear friend Phro Nesis, in her book Arpenter le Chemin des Dieux, speaks very eloquently of the different "colours" of priesthood, which can range from public leadership to teaching, officiating rites of passage to mentoring, prophecy to art, so on and so forth - each role serving different spiritual and societal needs. This raises questions about one’s own balance and inclinations, which can change and evolve over time, and certainly goes to show that it is much more about the work than the title.
To put it simply: Brighidine priesthood is not a thing in our pagan / polytheist communities. (And it goes without saying, even less so in French circles).
With all that said, Brighidine priesthood does have precedent.
Kindling the ashes of tradition
In his book Irish Druids and Old Irish Religions, James Bonwick writes:
Several ancient nunneries are conjectured to have been Druidesses’s retreats, or as being established at such hallowed sites. At Kildare, the retreat of Saint Brigid and her nuns, having charge of the sacred fire, there used to be before her time a community of Irish Druidesses, virgins, who were called, from their office, Inghean An Dagha, Daughters of Fire.
Who is the goddess I am serving ? She is the High One, the Exalted One. I know Her as Brighid, and met Her firmly through an Irish lens. But in the land I come from, and in the land I now live, She is a divine being recognised under many names. Brighid, Brigid, Brigitte, Braint, Bríd, Brighde, Bride, Bhríde, Brigindo, Brigantia... Perhaps a little Sulis, perhaps a little Minerva, perhaps a little Belisama… The significance of Brighid’s cult is evidenced by the large number of dedications to Her found in various parts of the Celtic world, both insular and continental. Whether we are talking about the same being under different guises, sister spirits, aspects or local interpretations is up for debate, as it should rightfully be - and we can certainly argue semantics here. Our people travelled, and they took their gods with them. I am myself a hard polythesit, situationnally soft - ever chasing the Brigantia in the Brighid, and the Brighid in the Brigantia: as a Gallo-Irish polytheist, living in the UK, I am bound to syncretise.
Cormac’s Glossary, compiled in the 10th century, gives us one of our best description of Brighid the Goddess:
Brigit i.e. a poetess, daughter of the Dagda. This is Brigit the female sage, or woman of wisdom, i.e. Brigit the goddess whom poets adored, because very great and very famous was her protecting care. It is therefore they call her goddess of poets by this name. Whose sisters were Brigit the female physician [woman of leechcraft,] Brigit the female smith [woman of smithwork] ; from whose names with all Irishmen a goddess was called Brigit. Brigit, then, breo-aigit, breo-shaigit, ‘a fiery arrow’.
We see from this text that Brighid was regarded as the goddess of fire, and of its three incarnations in this world - poetry, healing, and smithcraft. I’d wager that Brighid was likely a dawn goddess to begin with. On a personal level, I see no difference between Fire and Brighid: Brighid is fire. Simply but: Brighidine priesthood is fire-priesthood – not too dissimilar, in essence, to the path of the Vestals. (I know I said we need to break free fron Greco-Roman influence as Celtic Reconstructionists, but please bear with me.)
Brighid and Her Daughters of Fire… A comparative archaeological perspective on the role of fire in pre-Christian religious practices, in particular, might help us outline what role Brighidine priesthood would have played in the spiritual and social structure of a given community, also contextualising its richness. Historical evidences surrounding the fires of Kildare, Ireland, endure, providing a detailed examination of the necessity of maintaining the flame and, in my case, circling back to the ways in which this sacred fire can be linked to a larger Gallo-Irish religious landscape.
Kildare was one of the most significant centers of early Irish Christianity and, arguably still, contemporary pagan spirituality. As an ardent Brighidine, it mattered greatly to me to be able to go on a pilgrimage there. The town’s prominence as a religious site began in the early medieval period and is primarily linked to Saint Brigid of Kildare, but its roots lie deep: Brighidine influence, as we will see, spans both the pre-Christian and Christian periods.
Archaeological evidence suggests that Kildare was a major site of Brighid worship as early as the 4th century BCE. The Kildare region now contains numerous sacred sites, including the remnants of an ancient temple dedicated to Brighid, where her flame was kept alive at any given time. Frustratingly though, may of our working sources to trace back this lineage are Christian - but it is an ongoing issue of Celtic spiritualities, to be almost always observed and accounted for from an outside, more or less hostile perspective. According to the Life of Saint Brigid (Vita Sanctae Brigidae) by Cogitosus, a 7th-century Irish monk who lived in Kildare, Saint Brigid’s convent at Kildare was in fact established on the site of a previously existing pagan sanctuary dedicated to the goddess. He writes:
The woman of whom I tell, then, grew in virtue, remarkably, and the fame of her good deeds attracted innumerable people of both sexes to come from all the territories of Ireland and gather to her, willingly making their votive offerings. Because of this, she established a monastery-on the firm foundation of the faith-in the open expanses of the plain of Life [north Co Kildare].
About Kildare specifically, Cogitosus expounds:
It is the head of virtually all the Irish churches and occupies the first place, excelling all the monasteries of the Irish. Its jurisdiction extends over the whole land of Ireland from sea to sea. […] It is a great metropolis, within whose outskirts--which St Brigid marked out with a clearly defined boundary-no earthly adversary is feared, nor any incursion of enemies. For the city is the safest place of refuge among all the towns of the whole land of the Irish, with all their fugitives. It is a place where the treasures of kings are looked after, and it is reckoned to be supreme in good order.
The Life of Saint Brigid, it is to be noted, is one of the earliest sources that discusses the connection between the saint and the pagan goddess - if only to rebuke it - but goes into great details where it pertains to the miracles of the saint, which is, quite frankly, music to any pagan ears. Cogitosus’ account mentions the continuation of the sacred flame, providing insight into how the pagan practices were integrated into the Christian community at Kildare. The historical Saint Brigid, who is believed to have founded the Christian monastery at Kildare around 480, is herself often seen as a syncretic figure, the “Mary of the Gaels” - her life and works blending with the characteristics of the pagan goddess. Brigid of Kildare syncretically inherited many of the roles of the goddess, the continuity between the two figures being reflected in particular within the similar roles both played as healers and protectresses of the hearth and the community.
Though Saint Brigid is not the only Irish saint to have taken after the goddess (we might think, for instance, of Saint Gobnait), she is certainly the most obvious one, and it is often posited that the saint’s miracle workings directly refers to preserved folk beliefs surrounding the goddess. Here are some chosen extracts of Cogitosus’ narrated Brighidine thaumaturgy, for each is savourously layered: “a column of fire suddenly appeared rising from Brigit’s head” (the exaltation of imbas forosnai ?); “she touched with her hand the wooden base on which the altar rested, and to commemorate her unsullied virtue, this wood flourishes fresh and green” (a beautiful rendition of the rejuvenating power attributed to Brighid the goddess, dipping her hands in sacred wells and rivers to create the Spring thaw); “a wonderful supply of butter”, “a wonderful supply of milk from one cow”, “She divines a supply of honey” (a lot to be said here); “She hangs her cloak on a sunbeam” (love this impromtu solar association); “She turns water into beer”; “She miraculously ends a pregnancy” (excuse you - did we just talk about abortion in a Christian context and called it a miracle ?); “She makes salt from rock”; “She miraculously cures [blindness, dumbness, overeating]” (Brighid of healing indeed); “a dog guards meat for her”, “a hunted wild boar joins her herd”, “wolves act as swineherds for her” (need we talk again about the importance of dogs and boars to the pan-Celtic mind ?), “a river rises up against cattle rustlers”, “wild ducks come to her”, “the miraculous transport of a huge tree”, “She miraculously replaces a calf and a loom” (the continuous association of Brighid with cows, from a society whose entire mythology revolves for an entire cycle around cattle-raids, is deserving of analysis); “She divides a silver dish exactly into three” (I mean yes, Na Trí Naomh), “She miraculously moves a river”, “Her millstone remains intact in a fire”.
Notably, the Life remarks that the sacred flame of Kildare was maintained in a circular building, a structure that some scholars believe may have originally been a pagan shrine before being adapted for Christian use. (This fire temple is located on the grounds of Kildare Cathedral in the Market Square.) The circular architecture is particularly interesting: the Temple of Vesta, located in the Roman Forum and focal point of the Vestals' duties, was also of the same shape. Was this structure representing the eternal nature of the Goddess’ fire ? Was this indeed mirroring fire’s early source - star fire, and in our case of course the Sun, fire as Daughter of the Sky, fire as born-from-the-Thunderer ? I think of the astrological symbol of the Sun, and suddenly see a temple: ☉. Behind Fire is Light, is Sun.
In Rome, the eternal fire was fed by wood gathered during specific ceremonies, and the Vestal Virgins would carry out daily rituals and offerings to keep the flame burning. The fire was allowed to go out only in exceptional circumstances, and a public ceremony was held to rekindle it if it ever went out accidentally. In Kildare, we know that archaeological excavations near Saint Brigid’s church have uncovered evidence of a similarly long-standing tradition of flame worship: there was an inextinguishable fire at Brigid’s religious house which burned for 500 years, and was said to produce no ashes. In the early Christian period, the flame was kept alight by a group of 19 nuns (perhaps a reference to the number of priestesses in the pre-Christian era ? Is a nun not also a priestess ?), with each nun serving a period of time tending to the sacred fire.
The Book of Kildare, a manuscript dating to the 9th century, refers to the flame as a holy symbol, and it is easy to be connecting it to both the goddess’s pagan roots and its “new” Christian associations - more on this here. While primarily a Christian text, of course, the Book references the sacred flame and its role in the early Christian community, which goes to underscore the continuity between the earlier Brighidine priesthood and the later Christian monastic practices: as late as the 12th century, Gerald of Wales wrote about these 19 nuns who took turns in keeping the perpetual fire burning at Kildare in honour of Saint Brigid, a fire reportedly burning since Brigid's own time. In this instance, we see how syncretism helps preserve what Christian imperialism would destroy.
In contemporary Brighidine Flamekeeping Cills, a similarly meaningful fire tending practice endures: one is assigned a shift one particular day over a cycle spanning 20 days. From the first day up to the 19th, Brighid’s perpetual fire is lit, and then “passed” from one member’s shift up to the next, so that Brighid’s fire is thus ever burning. A shift lasts for 24 hours from sundown to sundown, time during which we are responsible for tending the flame, taking care of the fire, making sure it does not extinguishes, and delivering it safely from the dark of night to the light of day. On the 20th day, Brighid is said to tend Her own fire Herself, after which day the cycle repeats itself. I myself am a committed member of two such orders, the Daughters of the Flame and Clann Bhríde, and can tend as much as three shifts per month.
In the 12th and 13th centuries, the importance of the Brig(h)idine flame in Kildare began to diminish as the Irish Church became more formalised and institutionalised. With the growing influence of the Roman Catholic Church and the decline of indigenous religious practices, the Brighidine nunnery in Kildare gradually faded, until finally the sacred flame, which had been kept alive for centuries, was put out under new religious reforms. Despite this decline, the legacy of the Brighidine priestesses and their role in the community has persisted through local folklore and the continued veneration of Saint Brigid.
The memory of an ancient Brighidine priesthood endured, and the sacred flame has continued to be an important symbol of local religious identity, even well into the modern era. It is hard for me as a polytheist to consider Christianity as anything other than the religion that came after my own - I say this without smugness, but to highlight why I am so prone to look beyond it, behind it, always. For wisdom is a branching river, and I am porous to the many expressions of the sacred. On Imbolc 1993, Brighid’s Flame was spectatularly re-introduced into the world once more. On the same year, at the same time, and without any previous concertation, both the Christian Brighidine Sisters of Kildare and the pagan order of the Daughters of the Flame re-lit the fire, tending to it in a Cill (cell) up until now. I find that impossibly beautiful. Today, Kildare remains a center of pilgrimage and reverence, with many modern-day practitioners seeking to reconnect with the ancient Brighidine traditions and practices - the significance of Brighid in our cultural memory bridging the ancient pagan past with the Christian present.
I briefly alluded to the Vestal Virgins earlier in this article, and that is because I do believe that drawing a comparison between the Brighidine Sisterhood of Kildare and the Roman Vestal Virgins allowed me to see useful, notable similarities where it pertains to the function of fire-priesthood, and the roles of sacred people (in this instance, virgin women) dedicated to divine service, with the maintenance of sacred fire as a representation of otherworldly power and protection in their respective societies. There are also, of course, key differences shaped by the cultural, religious, and social contexts of ancient Ireland and Rome, and I will discuss these too: while both the Brighidine priesthood and the Vestal Virgins were religious orders of women charged with tending sacred fires and ensuring the well-being of their respective communities, their roles, privileges, and the contexts in which they operated were shaped by distinct forces. Both orders, however, offer valuable insight into the role of fire-wed women and their unique positions as mediators between the divine and the human world.
This legacy underpins, in my eyes, a hallowed lineage, one that I recognise myself into (to an extent) and which, I think, continues to resonate. Following in Saint Brigid’s footsteps, herself building on and likely syncretising previous pagan teachings, I like to think of the Brighidine sisters as carrying a devotional and protective role in the community, deeper connection fostered through healing and spiritual guidance; whereas the Vestal Virgins were perhaps more aligned with the civic and state functions of Rome, their chastity embodying purity and moral authority. Undeniably, one of the most striking similarities between the Brighidine priestesses and the Vestals is their responsibility for tending to a sacred flame, and it is the pillar upon which my own priesthood is built. Holy women, whether called priestesses or nuns, were in both instances entrusted with the care of eternal fires that were seen as essential to the prosperity and continuity of their societies. In Kildare, as we have seen, the sacred flame was an important spiritual focal point for the local community, as well as a political and cultural symbol: the town was “the head of virtually all the Irish churches”. Similarly, the Vestal Virgins were responsible for the sacred fire of Vesta, a goddess of the hearth and home: Her flame was considered a very real guardian of the city of Rome itself, and thus it going out was believed to be a bad omen. As with the Brighidine flame, its presence was vital to the well-being and stability of the community. Both “eternal flames” represented a divine protection that both category of priestesses guarded and upheld.
The Brighidine nuns of Kildare held a respected position in early Irish society - which, I suspect, is probably also what may have led to their extinction by male-dominated orders. We also know that Saint Brigid was bishop in all but name - an abbess beyond her time, which caused various problems about the place of women in the Church. If we are to believe Cogitonus’ account, the Brighidine sisters would have acted as intercessors and be propitiated in ritual practices: “the fame of her [Saint Brigid] good deeds attracted innumerable people of both sexes to come from all the territories of Ireland and gather to her, willingly making their votive offerings.” This emphasis on healing and community welfare does in my eyes connects Brighidine sisterhood with the goddess Brighid’s attributes of wisdom, craft, and healing; aspects which are still considered important to the Brigidine order of today. The Brighidine sisters most likely had a deeper connection to everyday life than their Vestal counterparts, with rituals involving aspects of religious governance as well as maintaining the harmonious relationships between man and land. We can infer that their influence was probably felt throughout the year during seasonal festivals and key agricultural rites. They were believed to have the power to protect their people and were called upon for guidance, healing, and blessings, with Kildare seen as “the safest place of refuge among all the towns of the whole land of the Irish (…) a place where the treasures of kings are looked after (…) supreme in good order.” The dissolution of certain monastic practices and the establishment of more centralised ecclesiastical structures during the reign of Henry II of England, around the time of the Anglo-Norman invasion of Ireland (1171), was part of a broader effort to consolidate control over Ireland: the fire of Kildare was put out because of its influence, because it was looking a little too pagan perhaps, and the worship of icons was slowly but surely cast as heresy: whatever the matter, the Augustinian order took control of the monastery of Kildare, and the practice of keeping the sacred flame alive was definitely abandoned.
Vestal Virgins, on the other hand, had more formalised political roles in addition to their religious duties. They were chosen from elite Roman families, recruited from the daughters of patricians (the aristocratic class): only those who met strict criteria were eligible to join the order. Once selected, they underwent a strict period of training before assuming full responsibility for the sacred fire of Vesta. Vestal Virgins were primarily focused on the ceremonial needs of the state, ensuring that the sacred fire of Vesta burned continuously as a symbol of Rome’s power and longevity. Their duties were heavily interwoven with legal functions: they were often present at oaths of office and played a role in ensuring the legitimacy of political leaders, adressing the symbolism of fire with community and integrity. They also participated in the state rituals that were essential to Rome’s religious and civic life, their personal purity held as a symbol of the moral integrity of the Roman state. While they held privileges and legal independence not granted to other Roman women, they did not have the same level of direct influence over the community as the Brighidine sisters, and perhaps priestesses, did. Instead, their service was largely in the context of political, legal, and religious governance. Vestal Virgins were extinguished in the 4th century CE with the rise of Christianity and the closure of pagan temples by Emperor Theodosius I. Their role as priestesses of a pagan goddess was incompatible with the new Christian faith, and the sacred fire of Vesta was put out, marking the end of their institution. Unlike the Brighidine priestesses, who saw a continuity of influence through Saint Brigid, the Vestals were part of a religious system that was eradicated by the establishment of Christianity in the Roman Empire. The decline of both traditions reflects the changing religious landscapes of their times, the Vestals succumbing to the rise of Christianity in the Roman Empire, while Brighidine practices became assimilated and underwent a transformation.
Duties and Responsibilities
As we can see, the most important role of fire-priesthood is to light and tend to the sacred fire as symbolic extent of a community’s health, wealth, integrity, life and prosperity. In today’s world, I find these mysteries not just relevant, but needed on a soul’s level: a fire priestess would be entrusted with ensuring that the fire remains alight, performing specific rituals and sacrifices in its honour - where it is believed that as long as the fire burns, the community endures. Strangely, my own natal chart reflects this tension: I am undoubtfully Saturn-dominated, nestling in caves and caverns, and yet a powerful trine of fire refuses to be choked, wants to be seen ablaze and rising. My Jupiter, planet of religion, dances with Vesta in the Virgin house.
From the exploration of Brighidine sisterhood and Vestal priesthood above, we can so infer several other important duties:
Maintaining Purity: Vows of chastity were taken, and breaking this vow was considered a severe offense, punishable cruelly. Whilst this is not applicable anymore, we need to understand how we can adapt it: this vow symbolised a votary dedication to the goddess, and to the community. The concept of physical chastity as a continuum to spiritual purity was deeply embedded in both Brighidine and Vestal orders, with the belief that this made them closer to the divine and enabled them to maintain the sacred flame and mediate between the human and divine worlds. It is an interesting one to think about, setting aside the patriarchal implications: we know that ascetic practices, restrictive diets, sensory deprivation and the likes do help us in putting us closer to the divine. A chastity requirement is not simply about sexual abstinence but is also tied to one’s role as spiritual intermediaries: it may be permanent or temporary. Vestal Virgins took a vow of chastity for a specific period, thirty years during which they were expected to remain celibate. The breaking of this vow was punishable by burial, a sentence that certainly reflected the immense importance of this pledge (literally “choking” the fire). Astrologer Demetra George, a pioneer where it pertains to asteroids and more particularly what she has coined “Asteroid Goddesses”, is the first thinker I saw explicitly alluding in her research around asteroid Vesta to certain fire-keeping practices suggesting the use of sacred sexuality or sexuality as a means of purification, particularly those rites involving fertility, sovereignty, temple prostitutes, or then again the sacred marriage between a goddess and a king or priest - a compact to the land. I have not delved into this research myself, aside from reflexions around the mead cup, but the question of religious fire cults pre-existing the ones of Vesta or Brighid, and centered around fire tending, is a nuanced topic: fire as a purifying element, like water, is well attested in a broader Indo-European context, just like using sexuality to cleanse or renew individuals does exist and can be found in various cultures. Sacred prostitution or sexual rites could thus be employed to restore a warrior's virility, free him from battle-related trauma and miasma, and reintegrate him into society as an absolved individual. It is very important to specify at this stage that there is no direct evidence that the Vestal Virgins of Rome used sexuality as a ritual mean. When examining the roles of the Vestal Virgins and their potential connection to the purification of warriors or societal reintegration, we must understand that the ancient Roman views on sexuality and purification as a whole were highly complex and often intertwined with symbolic, ritual, and societal functions. After a victorious campaign, a Roman general or imperator could enter the city in a triumphal procession, where they were celebrated and purified. The lustratio (ritual cleansing) was part of this process, which was aimed at cleansing the warriors of the miasma (spiritual pollution) incurred through the violence and bloodshed they had encountered and perpetrated, which could be considered a form of re-set after war. (I do believe that we cannot think of the mysteries of Fire without touching on both its hearth and martial aspects.) Aside from ritual cleanliness, then, ritual purity - observational purity - in my eyes, means rightful alignment of intention, and unblemished truth of the heart. Necessary “shadow work” must be performed regularly, and a priest.ess held accountable. (For more on the ambiguity of the term “virgin”, I am also redirecting you to my masterclass on Joan of Arc).
Participating in Key Religious Festivals: That one is obvious. Fire priestesses played an important role in various public religious festivals, holding offices during which they made offerings to the fire deity, as well as the spirits of the land and the dead. In a Gallo-Irish polytheism context, this would encompass the so-called Fire Festivals of the Quarter Days Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Beltane, although other celebrations may occur during the year. But more importantly, I believe this tells us something about the necessity to hold ceremony, being able to create sacred space and lead rituals. This is something I have been offering since I opened my Flamekeeping practice publicly, two years ago. Brighid’s Undying Fire is a profound symbol and beacon of hope for many. Her Eternal Flame has been tended to for centuries, burning away at the horrors of night. Each month, I am thus extending this humble invitation for people to tend Brighid’s Flame with me, one of Her Flame Keepers: upon request and on a donation-based exchange, a candle is lit from the Solas Bhríde flame that I personally brought back from my pilgrimage to Kildare. Where I can find them locally, I default to 100% local beeswax candles, but failing that, a floating candle whose wick has been doused in a sacred oil of my composition, dedicated to and blessed by the Goddess, is used as an alternative. Some have used this light to bless a new endeavour, protect a loved one, or keen their dead. In this capacity, I ask what space, if any, you would like me to hold for you: I propose to add your fire to mine and to magically fix, engrave, name, or pray over your candle if you so wish, as a petition to Brighid on your behalf.
Witnessing Public Oaths, Interceding in Community Matters: The Vestals were responsible for witnessing important oaths, such as the oaths of political and military leaders. See, I really like the symbolism here: their presence, as sacred fire tenders, was seen as a symbol of both the state/community’s protection and the divine favour of their Matron relating to Hearth Mysteries. This I believe tells us something of the purity and integrity of fire, transmuting and preserving pledges. (We will come back to that.) The Brighidine sisters held a particular status in the community, tied after their Matron to protection, healing, and the preservation of the sovereignty of the land. Likewise, Vestals had a unique role in Roman law: they could act as intercessors in certain legal cases, and their status allowed them to interfer in stately matters if necessary. I would absolutely expect a priest to communicate on pressing matters where needed.
I am not a Druid
On a more granular level, what does Brighidine priesthood entails ? What are its pastoral VS sacerdotal duties, especially with regards to the ever pervasive figure of the druid or draoi ? For we do have existing structures around druidhood (the most well-known being OBOD and ADF), imperfect as they may be, allowing one to progress from Bard to Ovate to Druid. I do not stem from either of these organisation. Where does that leave me ?
Looking between pagan froms of priesthood, such as those in Greco-Roman contexts and Celtic traditions like the Druids, sheds light on both shared and contrasting aspects of spiritual leadership. While the Greco-Roman priesthoods were often more formalised, hierarchical, and state-oriented -focusing on maintaining the favour of the gods for the society’s prosperity, the druids represented a more fluid, multifaceted spiritual structure. The big irony of what we know about the druids is that it comes always from outside perspective, and in this instance the perspective of invaders (with a specific agenda) - it is a constant of almost all Celtic spiritualities that we have very little indigenous sources on our beliefs, practices, and rituals (and in fact one of the big reason I am convinced France’s celtic heritage is constantly undermined: because we have no sources for our gods and their people).
In his seminal study Blood & Mistletoe: The History of the Druids in Britain, Ronald Hutton highlights how druids were not just religious leaders but also philosophers, judges, healers, teachers, and advisors, deeply intertwined with the social, judicial, and spiritual fabric of their communities. That is a big torch to take over (pun intended), and I am certainly not capable of being all of this, nor do I want to. What we do know is that druidic priesthood was less centralised, with different Druidic traditions existing across the Celtic world, meaning a lot of local variances leading to a diversity of practices and experiences tied to deities and rituals.
Whereas Greco-Roman priesthoods were often associated with the public worship of gods in grand temples and festivals, Druids were known for their deep connection to the outside, often performing their rituals in sacred groves, mountains, or other natural settings cast as nemeton or temple. Miranda J. Green, in The World of the Druids, explains that this emphasis on the natural world and its cycles was central to the druidic approach to divinity, in stark contrast to the more ritualistic, structured religious practices of the Romans. The druids’ roles were more holistic, often encompassing a wider range of functions -prophetic, healing, and wisdom-giving; and were not as closely tied to the state or politics as their Roman counterparts. Druids, particularly in Ireland, were thought to possess the ability to influence the natural world through rituals and invocations (performative speech), invoking the spirits of trees, rivers, and other natural elements in prayer. Their practices were intimately tied to the cycles of the seasons and the land.
In Book 6, Chapter 13 of De Bello Gallico, Caesar explains that the Druids in Gaul would often send their students to the British Isles for deeper learning. He states:
"The Druids […] have a custom of going in great numbers to Britain to receive their education, for there are many in Britain who are well versed in the subjects which they teach. And in this way, a large number of pupils are in the habit of coming to Britain to learn these subjects."
This suggests that Britain was regarded as a center of Druidic learning, with its sacred knowledge and traditions. Caesar also emphasizes the importance of oral tradition among the Druids, which was considered essential for preserving their religious and philosophical teachings. Although much of their knowledge was lost, for if we are to believe Caesar the druids refused to commit their arts to the written medium as they held a deep distrust of it, the legacy of the Druids continues to captivate the imagination.
In terms of gender roles, Druidic tradition also seems to have been a more inclusive order, with both male and female Druids playing significant functions with indistinct responsibilities - the priestesses of the Island of Sena (Île de Sein), off the coast of Britanny, France, coming to mind as a stark example. (Yes, I will toot the horn of France as a Celtic land any chance I get). Roman geographer Pomponius Mela describes them as nine “Gallicenae”, priestesses said to be prophetesses (i.e, interpreters of divine will), who could also control the seas, shapeshift, and heal the sick by listening to the humours of blood. This is in staunch contrasts with the more rigidly defined gendered roles in Greco-Roman priesthoods, much more fluid in Druidic traditions rather than strictly defined along gender lines. As well as their male counterparts, they were poets and lore-keepers, guardians of memory and wisdom, and ritual leaders all the same. Such female-exclusive orders were often known for their skilled healers and herbalists, using plant lore for spiritual and physical medicine, but also their seers and diviners (performing prophecy). For this they were threatening, being systematically raped and destroyed by Roman invaders - such as on the Isle of Mona, in Anglesey: Roman historian Tacitus, in his Annals, wrote that “women in black robes, like Furies, with disheveled hair, waved torches and screamed curses” at the Roman soldiers. Though largely obscured by Roman accounts and later Christianised retellings, female priestesses in Celtic lands held significant religious and mystical authority for pre-Roman Celtic societies: Irish myth cycles, for instance, preserved the legacies of women like Fedelm, who exercised druidic powers and spiritual insight.
Ultimately, the Druids’ role as spiritual leaders and educators was not just about officiating over ceremonies or performing sacrifices (of which we have vivid accounts from scared Roman generals), but also about being custodians of wisdom over the natural world, serving both the divine and the community in a variety of interconnected ways. In this sense, their practice of priesthood was, at its core, perhaps more relational, engaging with the world around them in a dynamic, living spiritual practice, as opposed to the more outwardly formalised and public-focused practices of Greco-Roman priesthoods. This is something I am more on board with. (My friend Phro made me laugh, in that regard, recounting how as a priestess of the Morrigan she was questioned about the lack of statues or effigy in our Gaelic Reconstructionist practices: the Celts were not big on icons, so having to explain why we cannot go about and parade our gods around like some Greco-Roman devotees is a funny one).
Now… There is what I do and know how to do well already as a votary - what I would call the chop wood, carry water of my practice: serving and honouring the spirits, gods and ungods, and serving and honouring one particular deity with regular offerings, sacrifices and prayers (Brighid), both for myself and, since a couple of years, for others - talking and listening to Her, tell Her stories and raise the awareness of Her in the wider world, help others hear / recognise her for what She is in all Her complexity and aspects and help mediate where needed by rendering oracles, striving to embody Her virtues in my life.
There is what I am still learning to do, what is an ongoing spiral, what I would consider myself still green on - serving a particular community: how, why, when, if; share knowledge, organise and create sacred space to hold collective ceremony; provide spiritual leadership and counselling in a frame that is different from my other professional consultations, teach and instruct. And, where it comes to Brighid specifically, aspect Her in ritual where needed and call to Her to assist in the empowerment of charms, talismans, materia, prayers, in a faire that is primarily about embodying Her.
And there is what are big unknowns still for me, what I may or may not be doing eventually - leading fully public rituals, officiating rites of passage, the likes. These are perhaps the tasks I feel less comfortable with as of now.
So I am not a Druid.
I am Breochwidh - Fire-Keeper.
I am Inghean An Dagha - Daughter of Fire.
I am in service
This all feels tender.
It all feels raw and vulnerable.
It feels awesome.
Over the course of the past months, I have had numerous conversations with various religious and spiritual professionals, including priests, occultists, and diviners. When it comes to priesthood, I abide by a simple rule: I believe in walk the walk rather than talk the talk.
I am at peace with the fact that I will always be questioning my calling: I come from a staunchly agnostic family background, where religion was seen as a tool of oppression and power over people, and so my religious inclinations have thus always felt a little alien even to me. (That’s certainly for me to unpack.) Having no clear model or structure in the broader landscape of pagan / polytheist religions, this does also raise within me the uneasy but eternal question of one’s validity or legitimacy. Turning to primary sources is one thing - but I do not want this to be the blind leading the blind. On a personal level, I am reviewing my own shadows and ambivalences carefully, scrutinising those corners of my psyche that I deem contradictory, weak or unworthy, and parsing through my strengths and pitfalls past and present, interrogating what I hope to offer in the light of experience and all the vastness of what I still don’t know and may never do or learn. Importantly, priesthood has a lot of overlap with things I already do and have done for a number of years now - and realising this was ground-breaking, prompting me to thoroughly reconsider my various functions.
Perhaps I am wrong for calling myself a fairy doctor - after all, the term is loaded, and whilst I was taught by an Irish mentor, I am certainly not Irish-born. (Yet, I do not believe in “Irishness” as a selling point, either, and this does not matter to Brighid - never has). I wonder a lot about the overlap of priesthood with fairy doctoring, for a fairy doctor is a manner of fairy clergy, and this intense introspection is making me rethink my services and offerings accordingly - one of the reasons why I am still, as of the time I write these lines, on a professional hiatus still.
Perhaps I am also altogether wrong for calling myself a witch - after all, where I am from, many were killed just for (being suspected of) being one. Yet, the term is true to the nature of who I am and what it is I practice. Witches easily fall into the trap of refusing to kneel, into easy defiance of the religious - but what if some of your gods are gods of magic, of power, of heresy ? What if your gods are tricksters, what if your gods are darker, older, thirstier ? The key lies in the word magico-religious - and the practices therein in the history and legacy of women mystics.
But what I was never wrong for calling myself, is a believer - someone who heard the voices of their gods and spirits, and decided to do something about it.
I am an animist.
I am a polytheist - with one heart for many gods.
Precisely, I am a Gallo-Irish polytheist, finding myself at a crossroads between native and adoptive lineages in Celtic lands, having made a living on a different place altogether from where I was born and raised. My practices are thus anything but pure, unaltered, in the sense of free from influences, anything but an unbroken lineage of wisdom - and I shall never pretend otherwise, for I like it this way. I also think that a quest for purity for its own sake is often an ill-balanced quest for legitimacy, for validity, and, perhaps, authority or superiority. It is a dangerous quest. It has no place in my spirituality because it does not match my own story or aspirations, nor does it the ones of my ancestors, and of my gods Who travelled, and were immigrants too.
Being a priestess, is not about title or status: it is a function. The priest is originally the one that knows how to speak to the gods and interpret when They speak back. A priestess knows the proper way to serve the gods. Kind souls have pointed out that I may already be doing what is expected, for now. That it can all also be as simple as holding space – like Flamekeeping vigils are. But I don’t think priesthood can be private, and I don’t believe in self-ordination if it is not ratified by the hand of the spirits. And thus it is an ongoing conversation between Brighid and I, where I must say She is gentler and more compassionate than I am.
(The feda speak:)
ᚓ Edad. Vision.
ᚅ Nin. Connexion.
ᚉ Coll. Wisdom.
I bow to a sacred flame
I stop in my tracks: in the window of my little town’s broker this afternoon, a window I never so much as look in passing, a ring flashes its brilliance to my attention. It is labelled “Campfire Ring”: a single red garnet, framed by four logs shaped like thorns. I immediately see hawthorn spines arranged in something reminiscent of a Brighidine cross, surrounding a glowing ember. In my head, Her voice - priestly ring, She says.
Priesthood is a responsaibility, a sacred duty. It is a service - one that fills a need, of devotion, fealty, accountability, and integrity, to a community seen and unseen. It is also a public role – where one is recognised as doing the work that needs to be done, for it is about doing and not being, about how the doing precedes the being.
Pondering what it may mean to be a bearer or wielder of a Sacred Flame, identifying with those traditions and cultures who light, feed, maintain, and ultimately strive to embody the deeper secrets of the fire-at-the-center… I am not worshipping ashes but fanning embers and kindling the living flame of tradition, in a way that makes sense and is hopefully relevant to today’s world. To me, this means something sacred, and once more I find myself relating back to this article on the potency and necessity of hearth keeping mysteries amidst all the current turmoil, violence and noise of our present circumstances. In turn, this is prompting me to revisit my notions on how to better be in a relationship with this world and the other.
Drawing on my experience as a Brighidine and Flame Keeper to discuss how the fire of necessity that burns at the center of the tribe is the primordial Nied Fyr, Feu de Joie, Tin-Egin / Tein-Eigin or Need-Fire of our mythical Hearth, I can speak of the mysteries of the Hearth as ancient, pious yet sorcerous. They do not concern solely the intimate sphere of the home and household: indeed, they are inherently political, intrinsically entwined with battle and boundary magic as well as with solar and martial notions of sovereignty and warriorship - because sometimes to harm is to heal and to heal is to harm. There is no disguising the fact we live in troubled times: radical compassion and community care are needed acts of fundamental resistance, vitally essential to hospitality (the proper rules of hosting and guesting) and how to grant, defend, and safeguard it; protecting the boundaries of the home and its access by visitors and outsiders while cultivating right relationships with gods and ungods alike.
Reflecting deeply on how tending the Flame, watching over the Hearth fire – whether we mean literally or metaphorically – is about ensuring the continuity of the tribe, I want my priesthood to allow others to warm themselves, to belong in the knowledge that the survival of these practices is not just about attending to the tribe’s physical, emotional and spiritual needs, but also about preserving its identity through stories, forgotten wisdom, and the old lore and teachings that matter to be passed on - something we do collectively. Spiritual hearth-keeping, fire-priesthood as a whole, is also path-tending, taking on the responsibility of gently guiding, setting, and respecting the rules of reciprocity that underpin right relationship with those invisible we share the world with.
Drawing equally from Gallo-Irish polytheism as well as the sorcerous lifeblood of the serpent that is also the spark on the anvil, I want my priesthood to welcome you to the fireside, inviting you to gently blow on those smoored embers again to stoke them back alive. Let us huddle together by the Hearth, and keep the cold and hunger at bay by lighting high fires in our head, heart, and hands.
May we all be kindling wood.
The Princess of Wands - Toth Tarot
Also called The Princess of the Shining Flame or The Rose of the Palace of Fire
Earth of Fire
Princess and Empress Salamanders.
Throne of the Ace of Wands.
The Princess of Wands represents the earthy part of Fire; one might say, she is the fuel of Fire. This expression implies the irresistible chemical attraction of the combustible substance. She rules the Heavens for one quadrant of the portion around the North Pole. The Princess is therefore shewn with the plumes of justice streaming like flames from her brow; and she is unclothed, shewing that chemical action can only take place when the element is perfectly free to combine with its partner. She bears a wand crowned with the disk of the Sun; and she is leaping in a surging flame which recalls by its shape the letter Yodh. This card may be said to represent the dance of the virgin priestess of the Lords of Fire, for she is in attendance upon the golden altar (ornamented with rams’ heads) symbolizing the fires of Spring. The character of the Princess is extremely individual. She is brilliant and daring. She creates her own beauty by her essential vigour and energy. The force of her character imposes the impression of beauty upon the beholder. In anger or love she is sudden, violent, and implacable.”
— Aleister Crowley, The Book of Thoth
Appendix: A Dedication Ritual to the Path of Brighidine Priesthood
For the sake of transparency, I wanted to share a partial version of the ritual framework I used for my own dedication. Important prayers and pledges have been redacted for privacy, but the focus of the ritual remains as a formal act of commitment to the path of Brighidine priesthood, aligning with Her divine attributes of Fire (healing, poetry, smithcraft). It is built upon a pledge to serve Brighid and the community, honouring Her with a life of devotion, spiritual discipline, and creative service.
In the year leading up to this ritual, and particularly still in the past months, the Tarot card above, known as the Princess or Page of Wands, made recurring appearances. Whilst it is not the first time I am cast as the Page of Wands as my signifier (it tends to be a close tie between this card and the Queen of Swords), the way it presents itself in the Thoth deck felt particularly apt, and certainly led me to examine it with renewed perspective.
Ritual Outline - Preparation
The aspiring priest.ess first gathers the following items:
A blessed central flame or candle, representing Brighid’s eternal fire.
Another white candle, meant to represent themselves (I used a simple beeswax one, dressed with a lock of my own hair)
A small bowl of lustral water for purification
A bell, to open and close the ritual
A cup or chalice of mead, as drink of spiritual sovereignty and oath-taking
A piece of jewelry that you would consecrate, to act as seal for your pledge (for myself, it was a priestly ring)
Brighidine offerings such as milk, cream, butter, honey, oats, or even iron or metal to symbolise transformation through the forge
Incense (juniper favoured)
A ritual blade (optional)
Brighidine oil for ritual anointing
As for ritual garments, the aspiring priest.ess should wear their clean, pressed sacred vestments, which may include robes in white, red, or green, along with any ritual jewellery they see fit. (In my case, this meant my golden torc.)
(Optional) If possible, the aspiring priest.ess will wear a flame-like item, coat, cape, crown or a simple circlet, symbolising their brow ablaze as a connection to Brighid’s divine fire.
Ritual Outline - Motion
1. Opening Sacred Space
The aspiring priest.ess starts by setting up a sacred space dedicated to Brighid, ensuring the area they chose, whether in their home and hearth or outside in nature, is cleansed and consecrated.
Once ready, the aspiring priest.ess strikes the bell once to signal the opening of the ritual, speaking:
"Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, let there be a holy quiet.”
Lustration & Blessings
The aspiring priest.ess washes their hands and face, reciting a bathing prayer:
“I am bathing my hands and face
In blessed water and the mild rays of the Sun
As Brighid bathed Hers
In the rich milk of the red-eared white cow
And in the beams of sweet honey.”(For more on ritual lustration, see this article here)
(Optional) The aspiring priest.ess may use their ritual blade to cut away any lingering attachments or doubts.
The aspiring priest.ess then takes the bowl of holy water and sprinkles droplets around the space with their hands, or with a sprig / twig of sacred herbs to sanctify it. They may choose to light incense at this stage.
Then the aspiring pries.ess recites the Genealogy of Brighid: they are now cleansed, befit to approach the goddess, and to work in earnest and righteousness.
Invocation to the Fire
The aspiring priest.ess now prepares the central flame of the altar with reverence, and recite their fire blessing prayer of choice as the flame is kindled. They stand in silent contemplation of the moving fire until ready to proceed forward, taking as much time as they need. A light trance should be achieved by staring at the dancing flames.
The aspiring priest.ess then makes an offering of incense directly to the fire, speaking their words of power.
Finally, they recite the Genealogy of Brighid a second time: the fire is come, ready and listening.
2. Dedication
Personal Commitment
The aspiring priest.ess may now wish to speak any personal affirmations or intentions that express the purpose of this dedication ritual, insisting on their individual aspirations and hopes for their priesthood (such as a desire for healing, creativity, wisdom, community service, etc).
The Oath
The aspiring priest.ess steps forward, standing before (the central flame of) Brighid, and raises their hands in a gesture of surrender and commitment. In a clear voice, they speak their dedication oath.
The aspiring priest.ess now takes a piece of their own hair as taglock, braids it, and holds it above the flame to be consumed by the fire of transformation.
The aspiring priest.ess then lights their own candle from Brighid’s own flame and place it on the altar next to the fire, symbolising the continuity of their light carried from Brighid’s flame to their own. As they do so, they may say words or prayers of affirmation.
Finally, the aspiring priest.ess lightly burns the tip of their finger to the flame and touches their brow, lips, and heart, before placing their palms upon their bosom in quietude.
The Consecration of the Pledge-[Piece of Jewelry]
The aspiring priest.ess now takes the priestly [piece of jewelry] they would consecrate as a token of their pledge, and sprinkles holy water upon it to purify it.
In silence, they then dip the [piece of jewelry] into the glass of mead, and then slowly pass it first through the flame of Brighid, before moving to their own flame.
Finally, they anoint the ring with Brighidine oil, and recite their appropriate words of consecration.
Thus they then put the piece on, anoint themselves with the oil, and drink the libation of the mead of sovereignty in the cup or chalice.
Finally, they recite the Genealogy of Brighid one last time – but their first, as a new priest.ess.
3. Closing the Ritual
The new priest.ess faces the altar once more, warmly expressing gratitude to Brighid in chosen, heart(h)felt terms.
They then strike the bell to signal the closing of the ritual. As they do so, energies are dispersed, and so do they return to the normal time and shared reality of others.
The new priest.ess must now keep the central flame lit in vigil, allowing it to burn fully, in a safe container, as a lasting symbol of their dedication.
Much like a regular Flamekeeping Shift, this time may be wisely spent in quiet observance, communing with the goddess, meditating upon the ritual thus conducted, or seeking further counsel and guidance via divination.