Imbolc heralds the arrival of spring in the traditional reckoning of the seasons. The name probably derives from associations with the first lactation of ewes, connecting it with new-born lambs and the return of new life, just as Samhain – the preceding cross-quarter day – is primarily associated with death.

We could categories three stages of life, being youth, adulthood, and old age. Most types of threefold symbolism – including this one – can ultimately be reduced to the three stages of any process, being beginning, middle and end. The triplicities of the zodiacal signs, for instance, also exhibit this symbolism, the cardinal signs signifying the beginning, the fixed signs the middle, and the mutable signs the end. Adding to this a fourth concept, death, the absence of the process, and we have a fourfold symbolism which is attributable to both the cross-quarter days and the equinoxes and solstices.

Either way, Imbolc is connected with beginnings, most obviously with the beginning of the agricultural year. The onset of spring brings with it the thawing of the frosts of winter, and the beginnings of the return of warmth, paving the way for new life. Animals emerge from hibernation, and deciduous trees begin to bud. The idea of beginnings, or birth, implies the idea of endings, or death, since something cannot begin without there first being an absence of it. Similarly, the idea of death implies the idea of life, since if the nature of existence is change, then the ending of one thing must be followed by the beginning of another.

For this reason, the Celtic goddess Brigit (later Christianised into Saint Brigit) has been termed the “goddess of increase and plenty.” The new life of spring may have appeared miraculous to our ancestors after the dark dearth of winter, and the universe may appear infinitely bountiful if even death cannot prevent the re-emergence of new life. Spring – associated as it is with birth and new life – carries with it essentially feminine connotations, the likely source of the associations with Brigit. The new born baby appears to be created by the woman from nothing, just as the plant appears to grow miraculously from the seed and the mighty oak tree from the acorn. Life seems to find a way, and the symbolism of spring includes the idea that life is as inevitable as death.

Reincarnation is an increasingly popular superstitious belief in the West, and appears to be popular due to the conflict between the desire to believe in the continuity of the self and a rejection patently absurd Christian notions of the immortal soul, as well as a prevalent but bizarre notion that belief in itself is an inherently good and desirable quality. Believers in reincarnation enable themselves to hide from the inevitability of death whilst convincing themselves that they have avoided the more ridiculous implications of the immortal soul, although the truth is that the latter are still present, and have been merely brushed under the carpet.

Ironically, any idea of the persistence of the individual is a small-minded and paltry notion, far less grand that the reality of true death. For that which dies truly dies, and is transformed into something else altogether. It does not meanly cling on to its individuality, but returns its elements unselfishly to the universe. The idea inherent in reincarnation, that one individual is essentially a debased and recycled form of a previously existing individual, is a demeaning and obnoxious notion, almost as much as the notion of a soul refusing its birthright – death – and clinging horribly to its insubstantial individuality for the rest of time. What idea could be more glorious and admirable than the appearance of a new individual, wholly free from any enforced connection to the past, living out its existence and then wilfully shedding that individuality, returning its elements wholly unencumbered back to the universe from whence it came? How much more noble is this idea than that of a persistent soul, shackled to the past, obstinate and cowardly in its refusal to accept its own passing at the end? How much more liberating is this idea than that of the individual condemned to the prison of its own being for all eternity? Religious and other superstitious theories of the universe seek to liberate man, but they seek to liberate him from a problem which is self-created, from a problem which arises from a refusal to face facts. Created reality can never be as vast and grand as the actual reality.

The bounteous nature of the universe cannot be appreciated for as long as one clings to the infantile notion that it was created for one’s personal enjoyment, and that one’s own death is a calamitous event to be feared and, if possible, escaped from. As it is written in The Book of the Law, “Ah! thy death shall be lovely: whoso seeth it shall be glad. Thy death shall be the seal of the promise of our agelong love. Come! lift up thine heart & rejoice! We are one; we are none … if thou art truly mine— and doubt it not, an if thou art ever joyous!— death is the crown of all.” To accept death gladly is to acquiesce in the true nature of the universe, instead of to ignobly flee from it. To accept life but to shun death is the action of a coward, and of a mean huckster. Life – the appearance of which we celebrate during the feast of Imbolc – is a gift, given freely but for a limited time. When death comes, one can either return that gift with a glad heart and a cheerful smile, free from remorse or regret, or one can have that gift forcibly taken from one, like a spoiled child who refuses to return a borrowed toy.

To shun death is to shun life, and to fear death is to darken life with its shadow. The feast of Imbolc, and the onset of spring, is a time for the dissipation of shadows, for the celebration of life and for the recognition of death.