This Holy Day does not fall on the Wheel of the Year. In fact, it occurs rather more frequently, happening every twenty days. And yet, it is one of the more important days in my religious life. Every twenty days, I flametend as part of my duties as a member of Ord Brighideach.
It starts at sundown, with me standing in front of my altar. I have already moved my normal candles off to one side, filled my oil candles, and set them in china dishes. It formally begins with a match and a prayer. Somewhere, another flametender is ending her shift and passing the flame to me.
The oil candles are special items, only used for flametending or vigils. They're like good china. There's nothing inherently wrong in using them for other things, but their appearance means that something special is occurring. It is one signal, among many, which says, "Be present, be mindful, and remember your spiritual side."
My flametending is a time of silent contemplation and reflection. I do no elaborate rituals. Some days, I dance my prayers. Some days, I write or read. Other days, I say my circle of stones. It all depends; some nights I do more, others less, as the mood strikes me. I have often found that my writing and thought flows more freely with Brighid's flame lit next to me.
I don't flametend because I believe that there is any inherent benefit to Brighid for my flametending; in many ways, my flametending is selfish. I flametend to give myself a structured, liminal time to interact with the Holy. It doesn't always work, of course -- I've forgotten once, and some days just don't feel like they work as well. But I try, even so, to faithfully keep the flame during my shift. Holy days are like that, to me. They aren't particularly special times of the year, in most cases. They are times, dictated by tradition, when people are encouraged to pause, reflect, and commune. Sometimes they work, and sometimes they don't. The value is in the trying, the repetition, and the sacrifice of time. For me, its important to set aside special times; times where I expect myself to be silent, to be simple, to pray, and to above all, to listen.
At night, as I go to bed, I carry one of my oil candles upstairs with me. I set it next to the bathroom sink, where I can see the flame out of the corner of my eye when I go to sleep. I always wake up more often those nights -- probably because of the extra light, but somehow, it never bothers me. It's a reminder; of my faith, of my trust, and of my dedication.
In the morning, I carry the flame back downstairs, relight my other oil candle, and leave them both burning during breakfast. During flametending days that fall on weekdays, I have a candle on my desk at work that I light. I'm often surprised by how the liminality of the time carries through to work -- on days that my candle is lit, I am more prayerful in my work, more mindful of my actions, and a calmer person. I keep trying to extend this state of being to the rest of my life, with varying success.
It ends at sundown, sometimes with me in front of my altar, sometimes not. I blow out my flames, and murmur a quiet blessing to the next flametender. Somewhere, she is lighting her flame now, beginning the ritual I just ended. My cycle ends, for a time, to be taken up by another. I will return to it, in another twenty days.