Do you hear her?
Do you hear her
in the cavern of the heavens
where the Moon has swallowed her own light?
Do you hear the whisper
moving through the dark
like breath on embers?
Her weeping
once ignore
now echoes our hearts.
Do you feel her mourning?
The low tide of grief
rolling through the bones of the Earth.
The quiet lament of rivers, forests, mothers.
The ache of a world
that has carried
too much forgetting.
Twelve thousand years
of persecution,
rape,
abuse
She screams for us
to remember
In earthquakes,
In storms,
In extinctions
Beneath the mourning
Breath of fire.
The old fire
stoking itself awake
in the womb of the Earth
Our Great Mother.
Aries rises
Not gently
A fierce remembrance.
A flame of no pleasantries
Sovereign
Beyond patriarchal restraints
The strike of flint
against the bones of time.
The ram lowers its horns
against the gates of stagnation.
Ignition
Invitation
And in the unseen corridors of memory
the ancient ones stir.
Do you feel them
flowing in your veins?
A war cry of the Irish sovereignty queens.
The ones men in power feared.
Fear them not
The Morrígan
black-winged shadow of prophecy
Moves across the battlefield of history,
not merely goddess of war
but guardian of fate,
of land,
of sovereignty reclaimed.
Grace O’Malley
laughs into the teeth of empire,
her ships cutting through the Atlantic
like prophecy
Queen Medb
Unapologetic in power,
Standing firm upon the mountain
Spear in hand
She who did not ask permission
to rule her own destiny.
Do you feel them
circling the edges
of this dark moon?
Because Aries carries
their blood-song.
Fierce.
Untamed.
Unapologetic.
And yet—
We sit in the season
of the eternal flame of
the Maiden, Brigid.
Keeper of the hearth.
Midwife of spring.
Poet whose fire births new worlds.
Do you feel the paradox?
The birthing
and the battle.
The womb
and the sword.
The Mother
Sovereign feminine
Keeper of life itself
Attacked
And rising
at the same time
The ancient pulse
Of matriarchal fire
Moving again
through the veins of the earth
A millennium of cloak worn
Layer upon layer
Season upon season
Shame
Silencing
Forgetting.
But Aries blazes through suffocation
The cloak tears
Aries ignites the forge.
We stand
in the moon’s velvety darkness
A threshold
older than empires.
Some say
it is the closing
of a twelve-thousand-year breath.
A turning
of the great wheel.
The old architecture trembling.
The brittle scaffolding of domination
Cracking beneath the weight
of its own shadow.
And in the dark
the question rises
like flame
What are we weaving now?
What web is being spun
through the threads
of our choices?
Have we woven
a web of fear?
A net of conquest,
control
Domination?
Or are we weaving
the web of remembering
the one the ancestors carried
Where sovereignty meant
right relationship
with land
with spirit
with one other.
This new moon is not quiet.
It is a forge
in the fires of time.
A cosmic anvil
where courage meets intention.
An anchor cast
into the deep waters
of becoming.
And somewhere beyond the veil
the ancestors lean close.
The Morrígan spreads her wings.
Grace steadies the helm.
Maeve lifts her crown.
Brigid tends the flame.
And the fire in our belly
Carried through generations
of women who refused to disappear
Begins to burn again.
Do you feel it?
The stirring.
The remembering.
The rising.
Because somewhere in the dark
beneath the silent moon
the first sparks
of the next world
are already
catching flame.
With care,
Laura Bonetzky-Gaffney
Author, Podcast Host of Triggers And Spiritual Medicine, Multi-Generational Multi-Disciplinary Healer & Intuitive, Activist, Trauma & Abuse Educator, Spiritual Teacher, Jikiden Reiki Teacher, End of Life Care Guide, Crone Witch, Ceremonialist, Spiritual Medium, Ireland Pilgrimage Facilitator, Plant Medicine Lover, Mother, Grandmother, Spiritual Guide
Addressing Root Issues and Reclaiming Ancestral Power
Book 1:1 Sessions Here
April 16, 2026 (c) All Rights Reserved.
Imbolc is the spark beneath the snow … the first whisper of returning light.
In this four-hour immersion, participants will:
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