Imagine a world where the most precious and mysterious arts and skills depend upon the use of fire. A time and place in which, without the flame, the most vital technologies would not be. Here, where fire is not just a part of life, but is- itself- alive, and must be treated with respect and honour. When this guest is given proper feeding and care, it returns many gifts in kind. Yet when not cared for appropriately, this friend becomes a raging enemy who cannot be stopped until all is destroyed.
 A small droplet of living light that could dispel darkness and lend warmth to the home as tempests raged in winter skies. A most precious gift of the Gods, fire was light and light was magic: a knowledge vital to the mysteries of the workers of wonders. Upon the honoured seat of the hearth, at the center of the home, lived this spark of the Sun.
 Childhood’s first awareness of magic was a mother breathing this beautiful power to life from nurtured embers. How she sustained and cared for it, as it aided her in duties of daily life. She could with her flame keep the Suns’ light alive in the home though the night had cast a cloak over the countryside. Thanked and blessed as it, too, was put to sleep at night, to awaken at her morning call.
 Anvil and hammer were tools of the Smith, but fire was magic with which he transformed rock to beauty and use. How fantastic was this highest level of physical art and skill. Powerful must have been this magician who could, from the very bones of the world, wring the most precious of shining molten purity. Strength of will and arm combined with light to form an inferno of magic, which shaped this treasure into things of importance to all. 
With flame, the Healer turned simple plants into secret medicines to bring an end to pain and illness. Hers was a quiet and special knowledge of how water or oils heated until they started their rolling dance could be used to call forth the magical properties of the growing world. Leaves, roots and mysterious things collected in secret- the substance- but it was the power of the flame that wrought from them cures for sickness. These potions and medicines, more precious than gold to those who suffered.   
 It was around the flickering hearth that the people gathered to be enchanted by the stories and poems of the Bard. Words and jumping shadows together weaving a hypnotic spell by which all were transported to other times and places. No substance in hand with which to work these arts, and the minds and thoughts of listeners the object of their skill, the Poets were the vehicle of their own magic. As surely as the hearth burned in the room, so the flames of inspiration burned within the Poet giving life to sound, gesture and expression. A magical light shining upon those present, bright enough to kindle within each heart a spark of that same fire.
The lust of the Warrior was likened to a conflagration so customarily that to cool his battle rage the hero Cu Chulaind burst two cauldrons and boiled a third. What weapon or tool of the Warrior was not created through the power of flame? Chariot wheels steamed and twisted into shape, leather boiled for armor. How is the blade born but through the fire, and how is the Warrior tested and tempered but through the fires of battle? The Warrior kept this bright magic close at hand to be used: tool or weapon as need should arise.
Then stood the Druid, with arms raised to the Gods and a bonfire raging before him. Though age old words and formulae of power leaped from his lips, it was the magical light that held the unknown at bay. Belteine (goodly fire)  was the blazing outward sign of the mysterious power and knowledge for which the Druid was revered. Theirs was the realm of wisdom, these men and women who had burning within them the ancient mysteries and knowledge of the world and shone like a light guiding their people through life.
Who is not excited by the wonderful description of the Druid, Mac Roith, as he prepares to use his gifts to peer into the camp of the enemy and know their preparations for battle? In his bird headdress before the sacred fire, his chant ripples through the air, again and again “I make the Druids arrow”. As he rises into the air like smoke until he above the hill tops sees what he wishes know.
When war was joined by the Celts it was fought on many levels. While the warriors slept, their wise ones gathered around fires and whispered life into powerful enchantments to destroy the opponents. Imagination struggles to see what would have been said and done at such a rite, but one survives still yet. And who would sleep in peace knowing that this nights’ work was against them?

 
I mix a roaring fierce fire
Clearing woods and blighting grasses
Angry flame of powerful speed
Rushing to skies above
Subduing other fires wrath
Breaking battle upon Conn’s race.
God of Druids
My God above all other Gods.

 Tacitus, in his description of the Roman razing of Anglesey in 61 CE, speaks of the women dressed in black terrifying the soldiers-curses flying from their lips and burning brands in their hands. Indeed, the historian praises high the courageous legions in slaughter of the Druids in their school and the subsequent burning of the sacred grove.
What an act of faith as each village celebrated the new year at the festival of Samhain by extinguishing every flame in every home as winters’ dark and cold embrace wrapped around them. Thus, casting away the old year and trusting that the deities of their people would again grant them this treasured gift, a new fire for a new year. The Druids then would ignite a need fire as light and blessing for the year to come. Every hearth was lit from that initial spark and every home renewed with the light and promise of future prosperity.
Even now, when we look to the folk traditions of Celtic countries, fire leaps repeatedly into view among these practices, preserved from ancient ancestors in the remotest of times. Cultural memories reach far back through the centuries and whisper softly to us of the mysteries of our past. Through these memories we see ourselves as we could have been and as we still yet may be.
In Scotland and Ireland there are to be found a plethora of blessings with which the hearth was put to rest each night. Often the last act of a woman before retiring to her bed was to gently cover the last embers in ash and speak a prayer over them as the fire was left quietly awake to stand guard over the sleeping household.

 The sacred Three
To save
   To shield,
To surround
The hearth,
The house,
This household,
This eve,
This night,
Oh! This eve,
This night,
And every night,
Each single night.

Even now in the old Highlands when midwives bless the newborn with nine waves of grace the ritual is conducted in the name of Brighid, that ancient Celtic Goddess of fire and hearth. But ‘ere splash of water falls upon the child’s head, he is passed over and around a flame thrice and receives, first, the touch and protection of light.

The child is passed three times over the fire.
And three times around the fire.
Droplets of water are sprinkled on the child’s head.
As the midwife recites each line.

“A small wave for your form
A small wave for your voice
A small wave for your speech
A small wave for your means
A small wave for your generosity
A small wave for your appetite
A small wave for your wealth
A small wave for your life
A small wave for your health
Nine waves of grace upon you.
Waves of the giver of health.

Traditions abound in which young girls burn hazelnuts or some other traditional ingredient at a special place or time to see in flame or ash the face of their future true love. Though the times and ingredients change from place to place, the principle of fire revealing hidden knowledge remains the same. How long have these secret practices survived from the words of one child to the ears of another across countless generations?
One ceases to wonder at the importance of fire to these people of long ago. It dawns clear how such a vital force would be a part of the spiritual world. How often do we see scholars describe various ancient holy days and seasonal rites as ‘Fire Festivals’? The question is not why, but what place, fire held in the religious practices and theological views of long ago?
When we look to Ireland, at the oldest and most complete literature of Western Europe, we find a wonderful, enlightening line in a poem attributed to the Druid of the Sons of Míl. In the words of Amhairgen

“ Am dae delbus do chind cotnu.”
“ I am a God that shapes fire for a head.”

How powerful the vision that springs to mind, an ancient God preparing the gifts of life and inspiration. What of this ‘fire in the head’? To the ancient Celts the head was the seat of the soul. The divine spark of life was given into the child to flicker just behind the eyes, through which it could be glimpsed. It was here where the mind of the individual resided, here that all art and beauty had its birth. As there was a flame burning outside upon the hearth and forge giving light and heat, surely one must burn within giving life and dreams. How important was this source of creativity to a people who so loved art and eloquence.
Pagan Celtic ritual sites often still contain ash, burnt wood and the other signs that mark the grave of a long dead flame. If we look at the oldest references to the magic and rituals of the Druid, fire seems to be a constant companion. By a hilltop set ablaze was the surrounding countryside insured that the power and favour of the High Ones still granted protection and prosperity. The face of  César, Druid of the Fir Bolg, illuminated by a green flame as in war he chants to call forth the most ancient of beings, Cromm Cruach and enlist this oldest and darkest force of creation to aid in the battle.  
In Ulster, that province of warriors and heroes where so many of the ancient tales take place, we find the remains of an incredible fire ceremony. At the sacred site of Emain Macha a massive building was constructed, with a diameter of 40 meters. This structure was set ablaze, offered to the Gods in a conflagration that could have been seen for miles . A similar ritual may be witnessed even today at the opposite edge of the Indo-European world where faithful Hindus build a large, thatched building only to send it to their Gods in flame.
Fire was, in that world of long ago, a living, breathing gift from the Gods, a tiny bit of the Sun, which danced among the people. Flame gifted that ancient folk with light and heat as it shared both their homes and their work. It was a magical power that filled Celtic life and inspired the passions for art, music, poetry, battle and one another. Fire was at play in every aspect of their world, from the physical to the spiritual. As we examine Celtic life, we can see a flickering at every point along the journey.
Even today in our modern world, we harbor in our hearts a special place for this ancient friend. In this domain of convenient electric light, there are shops devoted to the sale of nothing save candles. How many of us put match to wick, not for light or heat, but for comfort that we should feel not quite so alone? Perhaps we are not so far removed from the mysterious realm of our ancestors for we, too, still take joy in that shining flower that blooms atop the taper.
Tongues of flame still burn and leap in our speech lending expression and colour to the things that we would say to one another. Passion and desire are still described as a ‘burning’ of the blood. Who has not heard the spirit of a willful horse described as ‘fiery’? And what of the ‘flaming’ eyes of an angry woman? How often we do apply fire and its’ related terminology to intense thoughts and emotions that consume?
As we seek to honour the Gods and Goddesses of our people, let us retain fire and all the bright spiritual wonder that it symbolizes. For this shining connection to the past can give illumination to see into the depths of the now murky world of long ago. When we light the sacred flame for prayer or ritual, let us do so with the awareness that this is as our ancestors have done and as our children shall do. Each time this simple act is performed it becomes another link in an unbroken chain reaching far before us and behind us.
A simple candle burning on a personal altar will embody the bright inspiration of the Sun and Moon, the great lights of the sky. As we regularly tend and maintain this spark of divine light, our sacred space increasingly becomes the center of our homes and our individual spiritual existence. Each of us builds our very own reciprocal relationship with the Deities, and fire is often an intricate part of the giving and receiving aspects of these contracts. The flame carries our offerings, sacrifices and prayers to the Realm of Sky, where dwell the High Ones, and, in turn, through the flickering light, the blessings of the Holy Ones shine upon us. 
 We should include the flame in our most private prayers and meditations to attune with and honour our Gods and ancestors. “Welcome the flame before and within” whispered over a newly lit taper as the first act upon waking to the morning will lend a spiritual focus to the deeds which follow. Perhaps to burn incense as a daily sacrificial offering, a stick lit from the altar and consumed in its’ totality, words and dedications entwine with the smoke to be carried skyward upon a warm blue wind. When made a part of each day’s personal acts of devotion and faith, this small spark will ignite the creative spirit within our lives.
 Now families begin to share in this walk along the old paths, hand in hand, partners and progeny. The old ways become the new ways and the generations of the people follow the dancing light and start to move forward once again. As these couples, and their children join in the celebration of life, may they keep the sacred fires burning in their midst to unite them and to remind them of who they are. Perhaps, they will join at the family altar to welcome the flame together and stand within a moment of silence. Or maybe they bless their meal together at table by the light of a lone candle. Each household will find the best way to ignite the gift of inspiration in their spiritual practice.
Small groups of people are starting to assemble for worship in the old style. The blaze of inspiration gives life to these scattered groups which are spontaneously forming themselves in our communities. Each new study group will find ways to incorporate fire into their practice as they grow into a tribe. The flame may be honoured and welcomed to begin each meeting, and thanked at the close of the assembly. When rites are written and performed they should always include some sort of hearth and the sacred resident of that seat. By the constant presence of that shining light at meetings and ceremonies, fire weaves itself into the fabric that becomes the group identity of the people.
In recent years festivals are being held in celebration of life and joy in the old ways. These gatherings, often lasting several days, are being held all across the western world and are attracting large groups of participants, sometimes more than a thousand people assemble for these events. What seems to be the most common feature of these occasions is the large bonfire burning nightly, reaching high into the sky and dancing a flickering dance, often greeting the dawn. And the people are to be found by the hundreds, drumming, singing, chanting and moving like the flame as they come together to take joy in the company of each other, to warm themselves in that shining light of the Gods which blazes in their midst.
Voices of our long dead ancestors whisper to us across this vast expanse of time,  inspiring us to revive the faith and wonder of their spirituality. As we work to return to the beauty of the religious roots of our people, let us continue to honour flame and all of the light and life that it symbolizes. May the mystical fire in the head remain the blazing symbol of inspiration, may that light be ever present in our homes, in our lives and our sacred places.

Carefully, Fionn quenched the embers,
then he strewed green boughs and leaves on them, and said:

“Sleep, Spirit of Flame,
With greenness and redness of blossom;
Do not gnaw upon the tree roots
Or bite the grass stems.
Sleep soundly, soundly, very soundly,
Till we, your friends, come- if ever we come- to waken you.
Sleep, Spirit of Flame.