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:
...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.
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