Matters of Willpower

     There is, I think, a certain mindset with which it is tempting to approach magick. And in that mindset, it is stripped of its true potential. It is easy to see magick as a quick fix for any problem or challenge we may face. As if one could literally just wave their wand, and watch all the struggles and complexities of life disappear, in a single instant. This is not what magick does. Rather I think it helps us bring our will to bear on just such situations.

     Energetically, we may be harnessing and directing that source, but they key ingredient to those workings is willpower. Without an external force of resistance, we would have nothing to direct our will towards, no obstacle to move. Just as a body-builder grows stronger as he lifts heavier weights, it is a continuous and conscious process of choice to live by intent. To push ourselves. To make decisions that are in accordance with our desires. Even when it is not the easiest option. And that involves discipline.

     The magick doesn't just turn off when the circles come down, and the athame goes back on the shelf. The real focus should be to continue channelling that power. It is in the manner of our existence, in our expression of thought and action, combined, which transmutes the "mundane" into actual, physical change. Every decision is an act of creation. Every idea can become a manifestation. To write a poem. To dance. To sing. To sculpt. In the doing, the magick is wrought.

     It is not sitting around and waiting for something to happen. It is bringing your whole self into alignment with your purpose(s.) Which means taking risks. Daring yourself to dream. Seeing things through. Not allowing yourself the luxury of excuse.

     The key is not in stripping away the pain, the loss, the frustration. (Those things will never go away completely.) It's in viewing everything as an opportunity for growth. In having the ability to see the magickal within the ordinary. Nascent. Hidden. Malleable. Moments of inspiration are (usually) rare, and thus cannot be depended upon. Sit down and write the book. Pick up the guitar. Set reachable goals. Take small steps. It's better than taking none.

     Very seldom is it, that anything of tremendous significance is accomplished overnight, as a certain Horned friend incessantly reminds me. We must allow ourselves, and the undertaking, the latitude to grow. Maturation is a steady endeavour. In today's society, we are often of a mind to recieve everything right now, as quickly as possible. And when we do not, we vindicate ourselves with, "I don't have the time," or "I'll do it later." (One attitude contradicts the other, by the way.)

     Not everything can be pre-packaged, bought, and driven home in our cars for easy consumption and convenience. The developments of character and skill even less so. The present holds lessons of its own. It is no more, or less, than the future we await, and the past we have lived. And truly, there is no better moment for things to end, while others yet begin.

     What could you bring to fruition, if you shifted your attention to the parts of your life you've been ignoring? What could you build if you acted as if success were the only outcome? Who would you reach out to, if you thought it could make a difference? For them? For the both of you?

     There is no fault in falling down. But there can be no victory if you do not stand up.

Morrighan: "The Great Queen."

                


I know very little about The Morrigan, but what I've learned from other people has instilled me with enough respect to hope that I don't attract Her attention for the wrong reasons. She was the third God to introduce Herself to me, (the only female Deity among them all,) yet this first encounter could not have been more unexpected. Or, (to be quite honest,) any more creepy.

So why have I sat down to write about this Goddess, cigarette dangling from my lip as the scent of Dragon's Blood wafts from the altar behind me? Because I'm supposed to. Or rather, I want to. And in order to explain why, I need to start from the beginning.

------

"I've been having some weird nightmares." My ex-lover said to me one day.

This was nothing new--he had nightmares quite frequently, which told me more about him than anything he might say.

Still, I asked anyway. "About what?"

I remember him frowning, as though something were unusual. "I keep seeing this woman in a black feathered cloak, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes."

"Huh, wierd." I said. "Does she hurt you or anything?"

He took a moment to respond. "No, I guess not....but she does not look happy."

The timing of this was made all the more peculiar, because I had very recently bought Christopher Penczac's book, "Feast of the Morrighan." Now, I'll admit here to being a natural skeptic. I am often the first person who will try to find the thread of logic connecting cause to effect, but if recent experience has been any indication, it's that true coincidences are rare. I had no reason to buy this book beyond compulsion. And the funny part is, I haven't even really touched it since flipping through the introduction.

That, and Cernunnos had also made a point of appearing to my then-lover in the past, in what was one of the most vivid and sensory dreams he'd ever woken from. "Not on his behalf, but yours," Cernunnos would later say. That's a different story for another time, but I was further intrigued when he asked me, "What God would you make an offering of Dragon's Blood to?"

I found this an amusing question. He was Catholic. And often derided my "silly" belief in "false gods."

"Why?" I smirked.

He shrugged. "Just curious. I bought a whole box, 'cause it was on sale."

I laughed, but he shook his head. "No, you don't get it. I hate the way it smells."

"Soooo...why'd you buy it, then?"

"Something told me I had to." He said. "I just kinda picked through the incense pile and that was the one I had to get."

He continued. "Every time I light it, I go like this.." He made a strange triple sign in the air, "And say, 'This is for you.' "

I blinked. "For who?"

"I dunno." He said. "S'just what I do."

"You do realise how Pagan-y that sounds?" I teased him.

And how could I not? I remember once, at Dragonmarsh, he snickered in my ear as he poked at a crystal wand. "I dunno how you expect me to take any of this seriously. This stuff is a joke." My face flushed red and I rolled my eyes, resisting the urge to bring up things like the transubstantiation of the Eucharist. He didn't have to believe it. And perhaps to an outside observer, all of this, our Gods and our Magick, may indeed seem like an over-indulgence of fantasy. Even if it's not.

Yet now, here he was, asking genuine questions. And I recall one of his comments that struck home:

"She seems like She'd be a War Goddess."

...

What.

Okay. Now I was definitely interested.

"Whyyy?" The word was a slow, inquisitive drawl. No need to jump to conclusions, Nick. Nope.

"She's like, ready for battle."

There wasn't much said after that, for awhile. I did a little bit of online surfing to see what other people had experienced with The Morrigan, and a couple things from various accounts stuck out as coincidentally eerie to me:
She appeared to them in nightmares...
...And they used Dragon's Blood incense in their offerings to Her.
So, naturally, I went back to him with this information. And (to my surprise,) he was more curious than unnerved.

The first thing he said was, "I want to make an offering to Her."

Double-shock.

"I...don't know if that's a good idea." I said.

"How come?" He asked,


"The Morrigan is known for being a little...intense."

This would not dissuade him, however. And so, minutes later, he was closed up in my room, candle burning, making offerings to a Goddess whose existence he never would've accepted before. And now that I think on it, such a shift takes quite an open mind. In some ways, it makes me wonder if the only catalyst for believing in the Gods is through that experience--that almost tangible, inexplicable and personal sign of their presence that you cannot ignore. I know that without it, I would not have been Pagan, otherwise.

Nevertheless, that experience was not good for him.

He emerged from my room after what felt like a long time, clammy, and visibly shaken.

"What happened?" I asked.

"She told me I was pathetic." He frowned. "She just kept saying it, over and over..."

And that made me really sad. I tried to tell him that maybe that's not exactly what She meant, or that maybe there was something deeper she was trying to convey. I couldn't understand it. Why would she be appearing to him? A non-Pagan of all people? Someone who laughed at the possibility of these beings, these entities, existing as more than fictional myth?

I wanted to make sure this wasn't all in my imagination. Or worse--that I wasn't simply wanting him to have an experience, to the point where my mind was drawing connections between a Goddess and someone who She may not be talking to at all. No, he was very insistent. He really felt Her. He really heard a voice telling him these things. And stepping back into my room, I felt Her, too.

I've come to recognise that weight. That almost olfactory gravitas of a God's presence. This time, it was unfamiliar. Where usually I could sense the tremendous age and wild earth-power of Cernunnos, this was the overbearing and volatile agitation of a different dignitary. It wasn't "hostile," but like he'd said earlier, She did not seem happy.

I was feeling puzzled, and particularly ineloquent. So it was, that we went to bed soon after.

"I can still feel her in here." He said, as I drifted off to sleep.

"That's probably because She is."

That night, the sound of madly cawing crows flickered through my mind, again and again. Needless to say, I slept like total shit. It was like a movie scene put on repeat; a big flock of crows flying away, as if disturbed. Then, it stilled. And against a grey sky, I saw my lover's face vanish in an explosion of black feathers.

Later, he bought a black raven statuette, and tried to make offerings again. To no avail. He heard nothing, and felt nothing, which only deepened my initial confusion. What was it all for? It wasn't until at least a month later, sitting at the park with my good friend Sarah, where she gave me one of her "knowing" glances as I explained all of this. The one where her eyes suddenly dance with the amusement of someone who's long discerned the "obvious" answer to something that is a total conundrum to you.

"You know She wasn't there for him, right?" Sarah smiled. "She was using him to get to you."

That had never occured to me. And I still didn't really "get" it. I mean, why wouldn't She just come to me instead? The only thing that came to mind was that Cernunnos did not approve of my relationship at the time, with the only "allowance" being "so long as he does not impede your progress."

It's a very strange thing. As a Christian, I never really "heard" any Deific observations on my life. I did not experience God saying, "I don't like this person or this influence in your life." In that moment, I realised that what He once advised was true.


"Where you go, he cannot follow."

Let us fast-forward to the present. That relationship has come to its end, and instead I have fallen in love with the most awesome fucking person imaginable. Who not only supports me, but who hears the voices of the Gods as well. Up to this point, my practise has centered exclusively on my relationship with Cernunnos. (As most anyone could tell you.)

Now She's back.

Last week, I had another dream. I was standing in the parking lot where I work, holding a long, black feather. I could feel it blowing in the wind, and I remember thinking, "Huh, that's strange." The very next day, it became a reality, when in my hand, I held a long, black crow feather.

Two days later--my birthday. My ex-lover met me for coffee, and what should he give me for a present?

The black raven statuette he'd used as a representation of Morrigan.

"I guess things happen for a reason." He laughed. "It--she--has no place in my life, anymore."

I knew better this time, than to ignore a message from the Great Queen.

So there I sat, alone in my room. The scene so familiar to when I first spoke to the Horned One. Only now, a glass, full of rich red wine, the feather, and burning Dragon's Blood. I was a little skittish. Not knowing what to expect. I invited Her to my space, letting Her know that I was open to whatever it was She wished to say to me. I waited.

The first noticeable change was the air. (And isn't it always?) The hair on my arms stood up; an intense feeling of power rushing over me. My mind's eye was filled with the image of a woman, screaming fiercely, descending from the sky.

I'm not gonna lie. I was totally expecting a cosmic bitch-slap to the face. For what, I had no clue, but lemme tell 'ya, that was pretty damned intimidating. What happened was more interesting. (And less painful.)


  Her image in my mind walked toward me. Clad in armor, with black tresses flowing over Her shoulders. The look on Her face was a peculiar mix of affection and uncompromising firmness. The hand on my shoulder, so gentle for such a frightening entrance.

Her voice was the sinuous whisper of shadows.

"Let us dispense with introductions." She said. "You belong to another. Yet I am your ally."

My attention was directed to the full glass of wine I'd offered Her.

"Pick it up."

As I held it, it felt "different." "Other." My eyes were caught on the reflection of candle-flame on dark red liquid, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw an older version of myself. Stronger.

"Drink." It was not a request.


"Passion. Pain. Joy. Lust. Love. Sacrifice. Power. Strength. This is the cup of life.

This is my gift.

Drink."

And so I did, until the cup was almost empty.


"You have fought hard to make it this far. But now, you lay face-down in the mud.

Get up.

You are afraid to bleed for your desires. Meet the challenge. Know that I am watching."
As quickly as She arrived, She was gone.

Her lesson still rings clearly. If we are to embrace personal power, and self-mastery, we must drink deeply from all that is set before us. Knowing that this experience is what makes us Human. The joy, and the sorrow. Fear, and the opportunity to have courage in the face of uncertainty. Pursuit of our passions bears risk, and struggle. In order to keep moving, we must keep fighting against everything within that would hinder our growth.

And there is no turning back.

The Soul Eclipse

When I was little, I remember being afraid of the dark. A common phobia for many children. We associate the darkness with fear. Those lights go out, and our subconscious suddenly becomes pregnant with every sort of nightmare. They awaken in closets, corners, and worst of all, under the fucking bed. I'd stare at the ceiling for what felt like hours, certain that if I went to sleep, I'd open my eyes to find some malignant horror standing over me with bared teeth and flaming red pupils.

I'm smirking as I write this. It's funny, how something that was once genuinely unsettling can seem powerless; indeed, almost silly, years later. Fear of the dark is really fear of the unknown. And if something frightens us for its lack of familiarity, we make it familiar by splashing grim and terrifying shades of demonization all over it, if only to reassure ourselves that there's a reason to be scared.

In this way, such an "irrational" fear has followed us into adulthood. The monsters in the closet have been locked up tight. The only difference is that now, they actually exist. Innumerable doubts, insecurites and suppressed emotions rattling the doorknob from within, haunting the shadows of our mind. We settle for tiptoing inside just long enough to turn on the light, daring only just enough to remain convinced of our bravery. Yet, along with everything else, we have locked away the very thing that should be brought to light:

Desire.

For many, darkness is synonymous with evil. Considered disdainful. The realm of death and danger. More than anything, this is an indication of the things we fear to aknowledge as well those we wish to accept. If the darkness scares us, it's because we're unwilling to look at our own face in the glass. We've been taught--we've been conditioned to ignore our deepest desires and instincts. Ferocity has been silenced, replaced by a voice of total aqcuiescance, total obedience. Every day, our lips say "yes", when our heart says "no," bowing to the expectations of others and tossing away our personal power, our individuality. Our self imposed slavery needs to die, so that the sweat, the passion and delight, can thrive.

A moonless night. The silence of the womb. Within these lies gestation. Transformation. And the parts of ourselves that enable us to be every bit as glorious and free as we wish to be. It is only in recovering what is found in that darkness, that the light can reveal it to benefit all.

So go ahead. Open the closet.

The only thing you have to lose is your fear.