First of all, I begin with the story that a few on here already know, and end with the story only a few people I trust know. But I think it's time I shared.

A couple years ago, while I was away with a friend, my house went up in flames. luckily,my mother, and two of our three animals, made it out. unluckily, the third animal happened to be my familiar.

My heart developed a very serious hole (not literally of course), and I fell into it for a while. My fellows wiccans, Adrienne (the dreaming goddess) mostly, tried very hard to make sure I made it out.

Finally, I was taken to a small pagan store that has since closed. I wandered around for a while before coming to a display of celtic themed ceramic necklaces.

Now, I already loved celtic everything; Jewelry, the pantheon, everything. So I leaned close. A face peered up at me, strong chinned and deadpan, surrounded by arabesques and spirals. Brigid, it read, goddess of fire, healing, and inspiration.

I was a cosmic slap, straight from the pantheon I held so close to my heart. Though I usually sought Danu, it was as if Brigid had was saying "it's me you need." Digging for my money, I obeyed her, feeling as if the decision had been made outside of myself.

And putting her around my neck and over my heart was like wrapping my wounded heart in a goddess forged bandage; not enough to fill it, but enough to keep it safe while it healed.

I do not take her off. I can't. I've gotten a few strange looks in swing choir when I used to stuff her into my shoe before venturing out to dance. It was very uncomfortable , and I switched later to tying her to my underthings.

It was worth being seen as strange, to have her resting against my skin. I call her by name when the rare person comments on the necklace. "Oh that's Brigid. You like her?"

Because she has to know I love her. Bless you lady. I'll name my first girl after you.