I first studied Greek mythology in sixth grade. Our teacher, Mrs. Cope, gave each student the name of the god or goddess she thought we most resembled. My name was Athena, the goddess of wisdom, intelligence, the arts (especially poetry and weaving), mathematics, and war. Mrs. Cope said she saw Athena in my eyes.
Decades later, a friend introduced me to ancient Celtic tradition. It was no mistake that I was most attracted to Imbolc on February 2, the sacred festival of St. Brigid, the Celtic equivalent of Athena. Many Americans think of it as Groundhog Day. The groundhog saw his shadow this year. Six more weeks of winter, but Imbolc reminds us spring is still imminent. Seeds are squirming under the snow.
The bleak mid-winter crept inside this year. My husband fell and broke his back on January 15 while recovering from a knee replacement. The hospital could or would not keep him. He is at home, mildly medicated and on a walker. A key member of my staff tendered her resignation the next day. Another is thinking creatively with me to figure out his future here. We are battling bureaucracy, the cardinal rule of which is to, “Never try anything for the first time.” Did I mention I have an ulcerated toe and am supposed to be off my feet?
The news provides no respite. Krista Tippett’s favorite interview query, “What does it mean to be human?” is a really good question. Clearly, we need collective wisdom and fierce love to create peace. War is not the answer at home or abroad.
I sent an invitation to Grace when I went to bed on February 1, as I looked forward to Brigid’s encouragement on Imbolc. When I woke the next morning and began writing in my mediation journal, I noticed the date: 2.2.22. Hum… Athena whispered, “Do the numbers.”
According to numerology.com, the number 2 symbolizes the supreme feminine force and represents grace, power, peacemaking, collaboration, balance, and intuition. I note that my astrological sign is Libra, symbolized by balance scales. Grace was playing with me. She has a subtle sense of humor.
I thought about the groundhog that saw its shadow and promptly returned to its burrow for another six weeks of winter. It couldn’t cope with the news. It thought hibernation was wise. Maybe I should follow its example—weave relationships, write poetry, and heal from home. 2.22.22 is not far away. April, National Poetry Month, is right around the corner.
Even with a mask, you can still see the spark in my eyes.