In the Belly of Winter: Tending the Sacred Flame by Molly M. Remer

It is February, the belly of winter. We stand in the doorway between worlds, a thin, pale light ahead of us, just beginning to gather itself at the horizon. While life may feel still and inspiration frozen, something in us is listening for the first faint whispers of spring. In earth-centered, neopagan spiritual traditions drawing inspiration from old Celtic holidays, the holiday of Imbolc is on February 1-2. Imbolc is based on an old Irish word that means “in the belly.” One of my favorite reminders to myself at any time of year, not just February, is to cradle myself in the belly of the moment.* To be in the belly reminds us that we need not be focused on arriving or figuring it all out, instead we incubate, we gestate, we draw nourishment from deep within. We do not have to be ready. We are becoming. We are in the belly of winter, and the work of the belly is to hold, to warm, to nourish what is not yet visible.

In the middle of winter as well as in the middle of national crises, international conflict, and climate disaster, the world can feel grim and gray, and like hope and optimism are misplaced or even extinguished. We may feel burned out, used up, or simply too tired to offer anything of value.

And, yet, I continue to hold fast to the belief and the philosophy that there is a sacred flame we each carry within us. It is a place of power, a conduit of the holy, a quiet, steady ember that does not go out. You can touch this flame by placing one hand on your heart, the other on your belly, and simply breathing. Let your attention drop down out of the noise and into the deep center of yourself. No performing. No perfection. No pleasing. Just presence.

You carry a temple within you.
You carry a hearth.
You carry a fire.

You carry some spark of the original creative impulse that gave birth to the universe itself and it is still alight within you today, the irresistible urge and the incontrovertible power to create something from nothing again and again, to bring the invisible into the visible, through art, and writing, and relationship, and song. This is the flame that the goddess (and saint) Brigid tends, the fire of craft and healing, of poetry and perseverance, of justice and courage. It is also the current of Saraswati’s river of wisdom, the flow of learning, music, words, and art.

When you take time to create instead of consume, whether it is doodle in the margins of your homework, a letter to your legislators, a pot of soup in your kitchen, or labyrinth traced in the sand, you are tending the sacred flame.

As I have touched on in prior posts, in a world that too often feels as if it is staggering under the collective weight grief and conflict, it can feel self-indulgent or privileged to let yourself feel joy or to make anything beautiful. However, when we let our own flames go out, we have less to offer anyone and it definitely becomes impossible to light the flames of anyone else. Tending your flame is not abandonment of those who are suffering, it is how you keep showing up.

Under the snow, seeds are waiting, packed with promise. Their work right now is not to burst through the soil. Their work is to root, to absorb, to gather strength in the dark.

We are not so different. Right now, you, too, are carrying seeds of promise that no one else can see. Maybe it is a book that has not yet made it out of your head and onto the page. Maybe it is an essential change in your work or in a relationship that is still only a quiet knowing in your chest. Maybe it is a healing transformation you are courting in small choices, not yet visible from the outside. Maybe it is a simple, stubborn desire to feel more alive, more honest, more awake, and to make a real difference. These are seeds. Imbolc reminds us that we do not have to force them into full bloom. Our job in February is to keep them warm. Offer them a little light. Give them your attention and a name, perhaps written on a small scrap of paper and placed under a candle.

The Wheel of the Year reminds us we are not here to draw lines, we are here to weave a web and cast a circle. You are not alone at your kitchen table. You are not alone on your walk. You are not alone at your computer, even when the room is quiet and the screen is blank. You are wrapped in the mantle of the great mystery. You are cradled in the belly of this moment. May you keep tending the flame.

We begin, not by leaping,
but settling in…
Right here.
Right now.
In the belly of winter.
In the temple of our own wise bodies.
In the great web of belonging that holds us, always.

The sacred flame is burning.
You are here.
And that, already, is a miracle,
for you were whirled into being
from nothingness
into now.

(*”in the belly of this moment” phrasing adapted from a quote originally by Jennifer Louden).                              

Molly is the author of The Sacred Flame, a Brigid Devotional.

Postscript: Transforming Insight and Metaphor into Action

When the national and international picture feels impossibly big, relational, local action is one of the most effective antidotes to despair.

Root into your actual sphere of influence

Ask: “Who is within my arms’ reach?”
*A neighbor who could use a meal or ride or a babysitter
*A local mutual aid group.
*A nearby immigrant, refugee, or minority community center.

Choose 1–2 ongoing, devoted commitments, such as:
*Monthly donation (even small).
*Monthly volunteering.
*A regular letter/email to representatives on one core issue.
*Attending one event, protest, meeting, or fundraiser.

More Involved: choose one “through-line” cause and stay with it

To avoid spreading yourself so thin that you feel helpless or scattering your attention so much that you become ineffective and frazzled:

Name your core devotion in the wider sociocultural realm

Ask: “If devotion is my guide, what am I devoted to protecting or nurturing in the world?” (e.g., children, the Earth, bodily autonomy, democracy, refugees, immigrants, ocean life, etc.).

Build a simple devotion-based structure around that cause.

For example, if your devotion is “protecting vulnerable children”:

Weekly:

• 15 minutes: read one reliable, vetted, non-inflammatory source about a relevant policy, event, crisis, or need.
• 15 minutes: a concrete action (email/call/donation).

Monthly:

• One deeper act: attend a local meeting, training, or vigil. Or, alternatively, host a “listening circle” on Zoom or a “letter-writing and tea” gathering locally for calling/writing to decision-makers.

Ongoing:

• Incorporate that cause explicitly into your rituals, altars, daily practices, and community spaces.

This turns vague “I should do something” feelings into a clear, sacredly-framed practice.

A Simple Roadmap When It All Feels Too Much

When you hit that wall of overall despair, you can use a three-step check-in:

Ground

• Take three deep breaths + light a candle and put a hand on your heart.

Choose One

• One person to check on
• OR one cause to act for today
• OR one prayer/blessing to offer.

Close

• Name what you did, however small: “Today I… donated $5 / emailed my rep / checked on a friend / lit a candle and prayed intentionally.”

Repeat, gently, regularly, and imperfectly. This keeps you moving in the direction of Life, even when the world feels like it is collapsing.