The Night a Light was Born

On darkness, devotion, and bearing Brigid’s flame

“Is sa dorchadas a saolaítear an solas”

Performing Is Mise Bríd at the 3Arena for Hot Press magazine’s History in the Making fiftieth anniversary concert was an initiation. I am not the same person I was before it — not because of the stage, but because of what I had to overcome to stand on it.

When Hot Press founder Niall Stokes called me with the invitation to perform, I had been preparing simply to receive this Imbolc, as I was in the latter stages of healing from months of debilitating post-Lyme symptoms that had brought me to my limits. A few weeks earlier, as I came to understand the role of mast cell activation and histamine intolerance in these symptoms, my health — and my sense of possibility — began to reopen.

As possibility returned, so did grief. I stepped back into a familiar healing cocoon to face what I had carried, unprocessed, through seven years of mostly house-bound debilitation.

In that open, raw, vulnerable state — born of facing the grief of losing my cognitive and physical capacities for so long — I was called to offer Is Mise Bríd in front of almost 15,000 people at what would be called the “gig of the ages.”

I didn’t doubt that I could deliver. What did arise, however, was a deep-rooted sense of unworthiness, even traces of old self-loathing and shame. For three days I let myself collapse into it — in the foetal position, ugly crying —allowing those shadows to rise, be felt, and move through.

Since my advocacy as the daughter of a mother and baby home survivor began in 2021, my personal healing has been fite fuaite, interwoven, with collective healing. I could see how the archetypal wounds of patriarchy were playing out in this personal challenge. How many of us carry ingrained inferiority, blocks around speaking, or terror of being seen, shaped by the intergenerational impact of church and empire in this country?

Given my relatively limited experience on stages even a fraction of the size of the 3Arena, one might assume my preparation would focus solely on performance. Instead, I focussed on deepening my awareness. I knew that the degree to which I could hold and love myself through the darkness would be the degree to which Brigid’s light could shine through me that night.

I trusted that this personal ordeal was a mirror of a collective one that we are in the midst of processing, as we claw our way out of ingrained patriarchal patterns. In holding it this way, I found my strength.

By the morning of the concert, I was grounded, joyful, and ready.

Irish Women in Harmony performed before me. As I waited my turn backstage, their rendition of Sinéad O’Connor’s “Thank You for Hearing Me” burst my heart open and summoned deep healing tears. This was the song I had written my 2021 letter to an Taoiseach to, calling for justice for mother and baby home survivors, and for Brigid’s Day to become a national holiday to signal a new era for Ireland based on Her qualities of unity, equality, healing, inspiration, justice, peace, and love.

Also, it was Sinéad’s music that had lifted me out of my cocoon of unworthiness in the days preceding. I drew strength from her, and from doing this for her, and all she stood for.

When Gavin James joined Irish Women in Harmony for “Nothing Compares,” I placed my hand in prayer and whispered to her: “Nothing compares to you — but my courage is because of you.”

In his introduction, Ian Dempsey named clearly why I was there: because the movement I am part of represents a significant shift away from the patriarchal Ireland that existed when Hot Press was founded in the 1970s.

Is Mise Bríd was chosen among this era-defining line-up as an expression of our collective achievement of Brigid’s day becoming a national holiday, of our pre-Christian past, and of the new Ireland, emerging in Her light.

Like a rose rising from dark soil after a long winter, this moment had been seeded in years of struggle, illness, and healing. I walked on stage not only for myself, but for those who walk with me, and for those who will come after — as Sinéad and other banríona walked before us.

After an initial moment when the microphone failed, I knew I would have to find another way for Brigid’s voice to move through. Guided by kind people in the audience, I walked a few steps to my right and picked up the mic from the podium Michael D. had used moments before. I tested it. My voice carried across the arena, and I entered the flow.

I dedicated Is Mise Bríd to Sineád O’ Connor, President Michael D. Higgins and Niall Stokes & Máirín Sheehy of Hot Press in honour of how they brought Brigid’s light to an often dark Ireland. I felt their presence fill the space like a golden sun beaming through me. Every word was a rose laid at their feet; every breath a prayer — a thank-you for what they gave, and an invocation of what is to come.

The poem began, and every word came through my heart without missing a beat or a line. The luminous inspiration I felt in my body moved directly into my words, offering the audience a living experience of Brigid’s presence. There was a beautiful connection: I could see faces soften, eyes light up, smiles appear, hear the occasional roar of appreciation — and finally, a generous round of applause.

I had feared that an invocation to the Earth Goddess in such a setting, and the slowness and softness of the poem, might be swallowed by chatter. Instead, the audience was with me. Our proximity to where the Liffey meets the sea felt like an ally, opening hearts to receive the flow of Imbas Forosnai.

Years earlier, I had brought my mother as a VIP to this same arena to see Leonard Cohen — a night she later said was the most special of her life after all she had endured. Standing there now, I felt the poignant truth of his words: “there is a crack in everything — that’s how the light gets in.” It felt deeply Brigid — the first light of Imbolc breaking through the long winter dark. Or as our stories tell it, the Cailleach transforming into Brigid.

This is what the filí understood: that light is not possible without darkness. That Imbas Forosnai is conceived in the dark, like a seed in the womb, waiting for the moment when light can emerge. This is why the solstice was venerated — the first ray of light after the darkest, longest night.

As I stepped off stage, Van Morrison was about to go on. I paused simply to thank him for the magic and inspiration of his music through the years.

To my surprise, he asked where he could find a copy of my book. I explained that my years of illness had delayed its writing and publication. He asked more about my story and listened with genuine interest — especially poignant given the dark processing I had been in only days before.

I told him what an honour it was to offer my mystical poem immediately before his legendary “Into the Mystic,” a song that has sung to so many of our hidden mystical hearts across the decades. He received this with a quiet, generous warmth.

I will never forget watching his brilliant set from the side of the stage, letting the relief of my performance land before slipping back to the greenroom to decompress, preparing to re-emerge and soak in the magic of the other performers.

Just as I was about to return to watch the other acts, Michael D. passed the door of the greenroom on his way home. He glanced in, saw me, and stopped to commend my poem. Even before thinking, I stood, shook his hand and thanked him face to face for all he has given. I was so grateful and humbled, I almost cried.

Soon after, his bean chéile, Sabina passed by with the woman who had been their Special Adviser through his presidency. They, too, commended my poem.

This time, I thanked Sabina from a deeply personal place.

On the inaugural Brigid’s national holiday in 2023, she was the special guest at the Nothing Compares concert where I performed as Herstory’s poet-in-residence. I was in the throes of my Lyme healing then, burnt out from an intense campaign, media schedule and gruelling medical treatment – exhausted, cognitively impaired, and in no state to offer a memorised poem to a full theatre. Yet the honour of the invitation, and what it represented, made it impossible to refuse.

When I realised Sabina was in the audience that night, emotion welled up. The role of the file stirred within me: to honour leaders who walk in right relationship with the people and the land. So as I stepped on stage, I called on Imbas Forosnai to steady my memory and guide my words — to offer Ireland’s First Couple the same love, inspiration, and empowerment they had given to us.

And so the words flowed:

“I use an ancient practice from the poets of Ireland called Imbas Forosnai when writing. It is an old Irish term which means ‘inspiration that illuminates’. It was a gift of the Goddess Brigid. The poets of Ireland used to honour Brigid to draw down poetic inspiration so that their words would be infused with wisdom and illumination to help the high kings lead in right-relationship with the people and the land. I would like to dedicate Is Mise Bríd to Sabina Higgins and her husband President Michael D. Higgins who are the embodiments of Brigid on this land at this time. They are leaders that we all can aspire to be. The people of Europe and the world can look to our leaders, here in Ireland, for inspiration. This is a thanks for leading the way with imbas agus grá, compassion, truth and inspiration. What a momentous day for Ireland.”

After speaking those words the First Lady and I locked eyes, then hearts, and joined in a sacred embrace on stage. Something otherworldly, but entirely of this world passed between us in that hug. I’ve never felt anything as sacred as the energy that filled the theatre as the poem was spoken.

Later, in her address, Sabina honoured that moment:

“We are privileged to be all here together for what has been the most wonderful evening inaugurating Brigid. We had the presence of the Goddess herself with the blessing that was going on around us when Laura Murphy was doing her performance. It was on a par with the Song of Amergin. All of nature. It wasn’t just a spiritual Goddess, it was all of Earth. It was Gaia herself and Earth. It filled us all with love and blessing.”

Hearing those words backstage stunned me. In my exhaustion I had tried to stay small – almost hidden ­– showing up only to serve Brigid’s voice. Yet here was one of the people I most admired in our country seeing the poem fully, and seeing me: my dán, my capacity to carry that energy – and using her time on stage to offer recognition.

When the show was over, Sabina rushed backstage to find ‘the Goddess’. My friend Treacy O’Connor had also come back stage with St. Brigid’s flame from Solas Bhríd, my dear sister Imelda May was there, and Hot Press founders - Niall and Máirín, who had also rushed over to give me the most beautiful hugs, all embraced together around the flame. We had just come off stage, all singing “A Woman’s Heart” with Eleanor Shanley together, and we were buzzing. The show was named in honour of Sinéad O’ Connor, and we all felt the turning of the tide, the watershed moment this day for Brigid represented. Remembering the shoulders we stood on to get there.

Little did I know the impact that night would have on me three years later. In the throes of letting up my deep rooted unworthiness, or whatever shadow part of me was kicking and screaming, in defiant response to this invite of a lifetime to perform for History in the Making concert, Sabina’s hug and her words after my Nothing Compares performance sang to me like a lullaby – reminding me, of who I was, what I am capable of, and most importantly why I was there.

As she passed by the greenroom door of the Three Arena, I thanked her and softly shared, with her and her Special Adviser (now Director of Poetry Ireland), Claire Power, who looked like Brigid herself with her flame red hair and emerald-blue eyes – that it was Sabina’s words from the Nothing Compares concert that had given me the strength and confidence to deliver as I did on the History in the Making stage that night. This touched them both. They recalled the magic of Brigid’s inaugural night before Sabina affectionately touched my face and she walked homeward after her husband.

“I am the sweet nectar of Mother’s love,

Tenderness of her hand’s healing touch.”

- Is Mise Bríd

I was ready now, to immerse in the magic of the other performers and off I went to the artist area at the side of the stage.

There was something singular in every performer that evening, each representing an aspect of Irish music and culture over the last fifty years. An ineffable energy, a certain draoícht, flowed through each offering, captured beautifully by the Hot Press photographers in the artists’ eyes — a reminder that Ireland has given so much to the world, and that the Irish spirit has a vital role to play in lifting the global spirit now.

As Damien Dempsey captured it better than I could:

“A magical night at the mouth of the Liffey, incredible singers, musicians, poets and funny seanchaithe bringing 15,000 exuberant people great joy in honour of one of the best music magazines in the world — a magazine that has championed Irish artists and the underdog, and given learning, wisdom, and enlightenment for 50 years. Some night. Unforgettable.”

Ireland’s emergence as a progressive and cultural beacon owes much to the institution that Hot Press has been for five decades. A voice of truth, inspiration, and courage, it has deliberately and unwaveringly platformed voices that have shaped our cultural and political life. It has pushed artists forward, often before the world was ready to hear them, nourishing the conditions from which a more open, compassionate Ireland could grow. Hot Press is, truly, a national treasure.

To stand among those artists that night — past, present, and emerging — I felt myself stepping not only onto a stage, but into a lineage. Not above or below, but woven among kin who have each carried a strand of Ireland’s evolving song.

The next day, I looked at my Fitbit and saw what I had never seen before: a readiness score of one hundred percent. Post-exertion malaise had been one of my lingering post-Lyme symptoms, so to be not only well, but flourishing after such a physically and emotionally demanding day felt extraordinary. It felt like a sign that I had crossed a threshold — ready now for a new chapter, and ready to take my place among my people.

It is striking, too, that this personal emergence mirrors a wider turning. Astrologers speak of this time as a rare period of planetary alignments heralding profound global change — the kind of revolutionary energy not seen for millennia. As a Leo, with Jupiter soon returning to that sign, I cannot help but sense the symbolism: a call to step forward with courage, heart, and creative fire.

Ireland, too, seems to be stepping into such a moment. Over a century ago, George “Æ” Russell foresaw it when he wrote that “out of Ireland will arise a light to transform many ages and peoples.” Watching the all the artists and big-hearted people of Ireland gathered at the mouth of the Liffey that night, I felt that light move from prophecy to presence — alive, embodied, and unfolding.

Perhaps this is what true revolution looks like. Not rupture and upheaval, but emergence: individuals and a nation alike shedding old shadows, remembering their gifts, and stepping into a new paradigm rooted in creativity, compassion, equality, and truth.

Hot Press has helped carry us to this threshold. For decades, it has insisted that Irish voices matter — especially those once dismissed, marginalised, or told to stay small. In doing so, it has helped nourish Ireland’s own emergence from the shadows of colonialism, deference, and inherited inferiority.

Standing among those artists that night, I recognised that the journey unfolding in our nation was also unfolding within me. Years of illness, inherited shame and unworthiness had given way to something steadier: a deep, grounded strength and an embodied sense of belonging among my kin.

No longer imposter.

No longer inferior.

No longer undeserving.

But rooted, held, and ready — alongside a people remembering their voice, and a country stepping more fully into its light.

“Thank you for hearing me, thank you for loving me, thank you for seeing me.”

May we continue to meet each other with courage, tenderness, and truth.

Le grá,

Laura