I was invited to an Imbolc ceremony last weekend. Imbolc is the midpoint between the winter and the spring solstice. It is associated with the Celtic goddess Brigid. This is a time when we should come together to abolish darkness and share light. Cleansing our hearts of what doesn’t benefit us and considering which seeds we want to plant in the spring. When we move with intention, we can take this time to consider what we want to manifest in our lives before calling it in. This is a time to finish reflections on past lessons and appreciate the people who stick by us, who appreciate and love us.

This is a call on the four directions. Welcoming the elementals into the circle in a time of darkness, calling for resistance, change, and guidance.

Call of the Four Directions

We gather at the threshold of winter and spring,
in the quiet moment where the soil stirs beneath frost.
Imbolc hums softly now—
a promise of the light to come and green growth

not yet visible, but undeniably there.

We call the Four Directions,
The elements within us and outside
the forces that remind us who we are
To rise, again, and again,
above fear, above silence, above tyranny of spirit.

It’s the elements that cause change but always foster internal growth. 

May this circle be a place of remembering—
our resilience, our community,
and our sacred power.

Spirits of the East, Guardians of Air, we welcome you.

Breath of dawn and birdsong,
you arrive like the first crack of light
after a long, unyielding night.
You are the wind that carries seeds across frozen fields,
the idea that sparks before action,
the thought that refuses to be caged.

We honor the Air,
of new beginnings and sharpened intellect,
of clear vision and truth spoken aloud.
Teach us the resilience of the raven and the crow,
wise messengers who adapt, remember, and endure.

Move through us like pollen on the breeze,
stirring dormant dreams,
lifting us above imposed limits,
reminding us that thought itself is an act of freedom.

As the stars shift and the days grow longer,
may we listen to the whispers of the cosmos—
That change is already in motion.

Spirits of the East, be welcome.

Spirits of the South, Guardians of Fire, we welcome you.

Flame of hearth and heartbeat,
You are the returning warmth beneath the snow,
The spark Imbolc hides in candlelight
and in Brigid’s forge.

You are passion reclaimed—
not solitary flame, but shared warmth.
The courage to stand is found shoulder to shoulder,
the courage to act in voices raised together,
the courage to transform in community, refusing to freeze.

We honor the fire of people gathering in the cold—
kitchens, streets, homes, and hearts—
tending one another when systems fail.

This is the fire burning across this land now,
not given by the government,
not extinguished by power,
but carried by the people

Teach us the power of the stag and the phoenix,
symbols of vitality, rebirth, and fierce presence.
Burn away what was imposed upon us—
fear, control, smallness—
and temper us instead into something true.

Like the sun fusing elements in distant stars,
remind us that creation is born of heat and pressure,
And that transformation is sacred.

Spirits of the South, be welcome.

Spirits of the West, Guardians of Water, we welcome you.

Tide, rain, river, and tears
You carry us into the deep—
where memory is stored,
and truth awaits, passed down by our ancestors. 

Yet here we meet you with waters warming too quickly,
The currents altered,
The silence grows where songs once traveled for miles.
You are the grief of the oceans
and the endurance still pulsing beneath it.

We call now upon the ancestral waters,
and upon the whales,
keepers of ancient songs,
migratory wisdom older than nations,
voices that have taught this planet how to remember itself.

Their songs are thinning.
Their paths are breaking.
Extinction depleting. 

Teach us how to listen again.
Teach us how to grieve without turning away,
to feel without drowning,
to mourn without surrendering

May the wisdom of the whales move through us—
slow, vast, and communal—
reminding us that survival has always been collective,
that life endures through relationships, 

not domination.

We ask the waters to carry our vow:
to resist forgetting,
to fight erasure,
To live once again with the Earth, bound with care—

and to offer that same care

to every human life entwined with our own.

Spirits of the West, Waters of Memory and Life, be welcome.

Spirits of the North, Guardians of Earth, we welcome you.

Stone, root, bone, and soil,
You are the deep memory of the land,
the quiet strength beneath winter’s stillness.
You teach us that rest is not weakness,

and endurance is not loud,

but strengthened by return—

by lives folded back into the Earth,

becoming ground.

We honor the wisdom of the earth
the patience of mountains,
The resilience of evergreens and moss
that thrive in shadow and cold.

Teach us the grounding of the bear and the tortoise,
keepers of ancient knowing,
Anchor us in our bodies,
in our boundaries,
in the unshakeable truth of who we are.

As planets turn and time stretches vast and slow,
remind us that liberation is not always swift—
but it is inevitable.

Spirits of the North, be welcome.

Air, Fire, Water, Earth—
within us, around us, and beyond us.
At Imbolc’s threshold,
We rise from the winter

May we walk forward inspired,
act with passion,
trust our inner tides,
and stand rooted in our power.

The circle is cast.
The path is opening.
We remember who we are.

Blessed be the elements for their presence.