The Morrigan's Call Retreat

Where do I begin?  My heart is so full, I don’t know if I have the words to do the events of this weekend any justice.  I suggest reading Morgan Daimler (http://lairbhan.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-morrigans-call-retreat-dedicated-to.html) and Ed Rickey’s blogs (http://jetblackwings.blogspot.com/) about The Morrigan’s Call Retreat.  Their thoughts do it better justice than I will here, but planning this event has been a part of my life for over six months and I feel I must write something.

There was a certain sadness in leaving on Sunday.  I get this way after packing up and leaving from other festivals, but this time it was particularly sharp.  I went to work the next day feeling oddly out of place, clutching my coffee and doing mundane things. As I walking into work a crow calls out not far away.  It’s voice both harsh and beautiful.  I felt its call echo through me, and I thought to myself “I know that voice.”  And I smiled, I know the Morrigan is always with me, even here.
At my desk I think that only hours before I had been in ritual garb, spear or sword in hand, covering in battle paint, telling stories with friends, teaching workshops or listing to the workshops of our wonderful presenters.  I connected with old friends, made new ones, got to spend time with many of my Sisters, most of whom live many hours (or a plane ride) away, and together we honored the Queen. As I do my work I remembered the feeling of Her sword pressed up against my skin and the oath I spoke while a friend acted as Her vessel in a private moment in the temple we created together for Her.  I think of the Washer at the Ford, and kneeling at her cauldron, of the messages spoke on that first night of ritual work. The Great Queen’s tribe gathered, her ravens, her children came together and it was amazing to see. And I think of our last ritual, of singing Mama Gina’s Ruby song, and how we truly came together as a Tribe throughout the entire weekend.

I feel changed.  It is amazing how often I have said that in the course of a handful of years.  So much has happened, my life has taken so many interesting changes, never the ones I expected but sometimes what the Gods have in store for you is far better than the futures we imagine for ourselves.  The Morrigan has been an ever present force in my life, and I didn’t think I could feel closer to Her, but I do. 


What I loved the most about this weekend was how everyone came together in kinship.  We gathered to honor the Queen, and the fact that we came from different places, paths, traditions etc made no difference at all.  Morgan Daimler said it best in her own blog:

“People came to this retreat from as far away as Canada and Florida, from California and Virginia. People came representing many different pagan paths and belief systems. Women and men, old and young, different ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds, different education and life experience backgrounds, different beliefs and approaches - a diverse group of people, all coming together for one purpose, to honor the Great Queen. Without melodrama, without interpersonal conflict or ego, without tension between the many, many different people's differences. We came together to honor Her, and we did; in word, and song, in ritual, and prayer, in communion with each other and by sharing our experiences and insights with each other. And it was an awesome and amazing thing to experience.” 


 And that is what Morrigu’s Daughters has been about since the very beginning.  People from all paths coming together to honor Her.  And that is what we did, through workshops, three amazing and intense rituals, creating a temple in Her honor, and simply coming together and opening our heart to one another.  The sense of kinship and Tribe was beyond words.  I can only say my heart is overflowing.  

Temenos

“To dishonor the Land is to dishonor Me”

– Message channeled by a friend during a 2013 Samhain ritual

I sit on the old but sturdy wooden deck on the cabin I will be calling home for the weekend.  My feet are barefoot, a cup of tea in my hands.  The air is finally warm, almost all traces of an exceptionally long and harsh winter fading away from the landscape.  And my usually hectic life has stilled to silence and quiet serenity.  Other than the sound of the wind blowing through the pine trees, there is nothing but blessed, blessed, silence.  This is one of the many reasons I love the woods.  When I enter the woods or some wild place it as if the burden of the world drops away like a heavy cloak.  All the many things running through my head on a normal day – there are always things to do, things to plan, emails to catch up on, friends to catch up with, work to finish, on and on the list goes – vanish.  There is only the sounds of the woods around me, the feel the earth, not pavement, under my feet.  I always feel more grounded in my body and in the heart of myself.  I am usually out hiking the trails in the state parks nearest me as much as possible during the summer months.  It’s something I’ve missed during the long winter months.    

In a few short weeks this cabin and all others at Temenos will be filled with people coming to honor the Morrigan, for the Morrigan’s Call Retreat.  It will be filled with the voice of some of my Sisters, friends, and fellow devotees of the Queen.  But now all I can think about is the blissful silence around me and the stillness within me.  I had planned on doing some ritual work and journey work, but finding the silence within has become its own kind of ritual over the weekend. I haven’t spoken a word or seen another person since the director showed me around the cabin.  And it feels as if there nothing else exists save for myself and the presence of the land  that fills my vision, that I feel beneath my feet and sense in my heart.

Part of the point of coming to this place was to, as I like to call it, “make friends with the land”.  If I am doing ritual work in an unfamiliar place I like to take some time connecting to the land.  At times it may only be a few short minutes in meditation before a ritual, in this case it is a weekend spent in the woods, away from the business and drama of life, far away from cell service and without electricity. 

Each morning I make offerings to the spirits of this place.  When I come back from hiking the trails and feel the unseen eyes of the Sidhe watching me curiously I leave them offerings on a moss covered tree stump next to the cabin.  I sit by an old mineral spring and think of my ancestors leaving offerings at the wells sacred to Brighid in Ireland.  There is a tree by the spring with ribbons hanging on it, left by others coming to this place.  I tie my own ribbons on a branch, one for the Morrigan, one for Dagda, and one for Brighid. 

When I first arrived at Temenos the retreat director spoke of how she feels this place is sacred.  And I think about part of a message a friend channeled this past Samhain “To dishonor the Land is to dishonor Me”  And I think it is no wonder that I feel the closest to Her when I am in the wild places of the world.  That I feel the most content in a grove of trees, or here on the deck of a cabin that lacks any modern amenities, listening to the wind move through the pines.

By the end of the weekend I am sad that I am leaving this place for my busy life. But I know there will be other days spent in the woods, other hours spent on more familiar trails.  And in a few short weeks we will make offerings to the land, to the Sidhe, and of course to the Morrigan.     

Line in the Sand

 

   It’s been quiet here on blog as of late, mostly because of I’ve been doing a lot of traveling in the last few months and secondly because I’ve been busy with all the final planning for the Morrigan’s Call retreat coming up this June.  I’ve gone back and forth for days, thinking about whether or not to blog about the whole Kenny Klein situation.   There are dozens of blog posts out there right now, and ten times as many posts and reactions all over social media.  I asked myself if blogging about this was just beating a dead horse?  I only met Klein once very briefly at this past PantheaCon.  What can I possibly add that hasn’t been said already?  But ultimately I think simply talking about the issues Klein’s arrest has dredged up is important.  Even if I’m the hundredth or two hundredth voice to chime in.  I am deeply saddened that many who had bad experiences with him kept silent, and angered that those who did have the courage to speak up were not taken as seriously as they should have been.

   There is a general culture of trust at most Pagan events and festivals.  For many it’s a rare opportunity to fully be ourselves.  To partake in rituals, workshops, and conversations with other like minded individuals.  We forget to question things, we forget to use common sense and caution.  And we forget that not everyone is a good person.  Yes, even Pagans.  So what is to be learned from all this?  What can we take from this situation that will prevent another person like Klein from victimizing others?  I think as a community we need to draw a line in the sand.  We need to make it clear what is acceptable, and not acceptable, in a sex positive religion.  Will we tolerate a culture of silence?  Or will we stand up for ourselves and others in our community and say this is what is acceptable, and this is what is not?  How we handles issues such as these will define us as a community.   

   That brings me to the events of the past few days, with the new uproar about Gavin and Yvonne Gavin and Yvonne Frost teaching at several events this year.  I started receiving emails and messages, from those in the online community, and even from my own students, asking if I have ever come in contact with the Frosts, and what exactly they were promoting? What was all the "fuss" about?  If you are not sure what I am talking about I suggest you read T Thorn Coyle’s blog posts about the Frosts here: http://www.thorncoyle.com/know-thyself/  , she makes many excellent points.  I personally have never met them, all I can comment on is their writings, and the serious red flags they raise.  I will remind everyone that this issue isn’t new.  The Frosts being controversial is old news, that after Klein’s arrest we are looking at with new eyes.  And honestly I am proud of my community for taking a step back and saying, this is a problem, we’ve been silent about it before, no more.  There is nothing wrong with admitting we have been wrong in the past.  Paganism is “growing up” as a community in many ways.   As we grow we need to think about how we will, both now and in the future, handle situations where people are participating, as Klein did, in illegal activity, or as the Frosts have for the last thirty plus years, promoted abuse via the sexual initiation of minors within ritual.  Some of their own words from the Good Witch’s Bible:

 “It is hoped by Wicca that the first full sexual experience will take place in the pleasant surroundings of the coven and that the spiritual as well as the physical aspects of the experience will lead the child to a complete life.” 

“At the last sabbat… before the initiation, the female novice is given the sacred phallus and the instruction sheet in Table 5 so that she can learn to insert and remove the phallus quickly and comfortably.   She is also taught how she should lie and what she should do during the initiation ceremony.”

Table 5 (Instructions for Female Novice) begins thus:

"You have been entrusted with two phalli; these are in our care until your initiation. We would like you to be initiated at the next coven meeting, which will take place on ... This means that, excluding your menstruation time, you have three weeks to prepare your muscles for introitus. Your father or your sponsor will help you if you have any difficulties or pain. "

  

   Now take a moment to think about an initiation ceremony like this being promoted in a current title about Witchcraft, rather than something from the 70’s, and from someone who hasn’t been in the community for decades.  Would it still be ok?  In my mind there is a big difference between having a positive attitude towards sexuality and exploiting others by masking abuse as spirituality.  In the 1999 edition the introduction to this chapter had a disclaimer included stating that initiations should not be done in this way until the age of 18.  Yet still what they have written remains unsettling.  And as Coyle says in her article, words have power:

“Do I think the Frosts have sex with children? I doubt it. But as an author, who knows the power of the written word, I wish they would explain. I wish they would retract. The fact that they have not taints their work for me and makes me wonder why they are invited to festivals to teach… And I like the Frosts. Remember, they are gracious, kind, warm, funny, knowledgeable, and apparently dance a mean tango. I am not here to demonize them, but to voice concerns.” (http://www.thorncoyle.com/know-thyself/)

 

And like Coyle, I’m voicing my concern.  Do we serve the community by sweeping things under the rug again?  Again we must draw that line in the sand.  We need to reevaluate how we have responded to issues like this in the past.  And I think we are beginning to do that.   And as a result unfortunately  events where the Frosts are speaking have been coming under fire.  I am proud of my community for standing up, and making their voices heard.  Yet I also understand the precarious situation this puts event planners and organizers in, the mud slinging that goes along with this, and how a situation can quickly degrade into a shouting match between two sides that ends with both parties feeling attacked and unheard.  When things fall apart like that, nothing gets resolved.  No positive change can occur.  The dialog that NEEDS to happen, never does.  This is another growing pain within Paganism that we need to deal with.  We need, as my friend Ody pointed out to me today, Transparency in our community.   We need openness, communication, and most importantly accountability. 

   This issue is bigger than any one event.  It requires us to speak up about our concerns, and most importantly to come together as a community.  So I urge you to make your voices heard.  Respond to this blog, post on social media, talk to the leaders and organizer in your community.  Lets break the silence, and draw the line in the sand. Lets take an ugly truth, like Klein being exposed for what he is, and use it to create positive change.

  

 

 

 

Of Phantom Washer Women, Cattle Raids, and Crows

  I take a deep breath and look up at the crescent above.  It’s barely even twilight and she is already shining brightly in the autumn sky.  I take another breath.  I feel alive, I feel whole, I feel complete and utterly content.  Whenever I come back from festivals, especially one where I’ve done ritual work there is always this “energy high” that I wish I could make last forever.  There is so much buzzing through my mind it is difficult to put all my thoughts in order for this post, but I will try as best I can. 

  This past weekend I taught several workshops at Florida Pagan Gathering as well as hosted a ritual in honor of the Morrigan with a group of friends who were attending the event.  I met so many wonderful people and had so many wonderful conversations!  Also got to hear my new favorite Morrigan song, “Ruby” by Mama Gina! (There are so many Morrigan songs now it’s hard to pick a fav.  I’m still in love with yours too Jenna Green! Can’t wait till it’s out on the next CD) 

  As I drive home from the airport I see a mass of dark shapes in the air along with that moon.  In the distance I guess they may be sea gulls.  I’m driving past the large river that snakes it way through Hartford I can usually see gulls here looking for food. But soon I realize they are crows. No just a few, or a dozen, or two dozen, but a sky full of them.  And the words of the song I am listening to come back to me, “But the bravest of souls are the Morrigan’s tithe/Hers for the taking and hers to revive/Oh the rubies the Raven collects/The rubies in the Morrigan’s nest”.  It makes me think of another day, when another murder of crows, if I can even call it that, rattled something within me.  (You can read about that here: http://darkgoddessmusings.blogspot.com/2013/02/a-storm-of-crows.html)  But the crows flooding the sky tonight they feel content.  They circle around the highway as the sun sinks below the horizon, and I feel the embrace of the Morrigan filling me again, as it did in our ritual in FPG, and I feel blessed to do what little bit of Her work I can in this world.

 

   Then there is the ritual we did at FPG.  In ritual, especially when you are embodying or aspecting a deity so many of the details become fuzzing afterwards. So I often try to jot down some of my thoughts and feelings afterwards.  The ritual was so beautifully powerful, it left me with such an amazing feeling afterwards, and I’m riding that ritual high still.  So here is what I wrote afterwards, although it doesn’t do the work we did justice.   

  I feel feathery wings embrace me as I walk, a caress I feel in my soul and sense in my mind’s eye.  Something familiar steps forward in me.  I am still myself, and yet I am not.  I feel taller, I want to shout, I can not stand still.  As we walk to the stone, a scattering of large boulders piled together just within sight of the water, we look over to a see there are now cows in field adjacent to the ritual space.  And I have to laugh, because it just makes sense.  The Morrigan is always concerned with cattle in her myths, they were ultimate symbol of wealth to the Celts.  They are the symbolic wealth of the land and tribe, and it is the land we have come to honor.  To call upon the Morrigan as the Goddess of sovereignty, that force the Celts saw as springing from the land itself, and that force we need to learn to re-claim in ourselves today. 

  Myself and the other women who will be calling upon different faces of the Morrigan hold hands.  And I feel part of myself step back, and I become some odd mix of the Catha Badb, the Battle Crow, and myself.  Sometimes aspecting a deity can feel intense, but not today, as wild as I feel inside it is a familiar feeling.  A comfortable, embrace of an old friend.  The very first lines of this ritual I wrote was the invocation to Badb I will say very soon.  Words that I had to pull over on the side of the road to write down on my way home one day because suddenly she was there at the edge of my thoughts telling me she had something to say.    
   Next to me the woman who will embody the Washer at the Ford begins to whisper, but it’s not her voice I hear.  I can feel the moment she is gone and the Washer Woman has stepped in.  And when the Washer at the Ford speaks her prophesy, I know I am listening to the words of the Morrigan.

  I am quiet by nature, perhaps one of the many reasons I need the Morrigan.  But in this ritual I feel like I can’t shout loud enough.  It is not my quiet voice that is speaking.  We are calling, then shouting, the Morrigan’s name, we challenge those who have gathered and those who wish to make an oath to the Great Queen come forward.  They lay their hands on my sword and I soak up each oath, each promise, each kiss of the blade, and each heartfelt vow, each shed tear.  And in the back of my mind I feel Her accepting these words, accepting these oaths, drinking them in.  We make offerings to the Great Queen and the ritual is done.  I feel blessed, whole, complete, and thankful for kinship. 

      The voice of the Washer at the Ford came through strongly in our FPG ritual, and makes me think of my own personal ritual to the Morrigan a week prior.  This Samhain has been busy.  I’ve attended so many wonderful rituals and festivals over the course of the last month, along with doing my own private devotions to the Great Queen.

  I feel her so strongly on Samhain, she is standing there on the knife’s edge, at the liminal time between times.  While I go to other rituals for Samhain on the days leading up to it and after it, the night of Samhain itself I set aside for myself.  I need that time to connect with her in a personal way.   In my own ritual I called to a different face of the Morrigan as I called the four quarters.  In the east she is the Battle Crow, in the south she is fiery Macha who tempers our souls as a smith does a blade, in the north she is the lady of Sovereignty, and in the west she is the Washer Woman, the queen of phantoms.  I wasn’t terribly surprised that it was the Washer Woman who stepped forward so strongly in my personal ritual.  The Washer at the Ford had been whispering to me for weeks.  As I called to the west I could hear the sounds of the water as she washed the armor of the slain, as she washes our fears away.  She stood in the shadows just outside of sight.  Perhaps it was the ritual we had planned for FPG, which as we continues to plan was in the back of my mind at the time,  or maybe it’s has just that this was the face of the Morrigan I needed at that moment.   I could feel water rushing all around my bare feet, as if I stood in a river, ankle deep. I could see her in my mind’s eye, veiled, the water turning the deep red of rubies and wine as she moved her hands through the water.  Reminding us she’ll wash away our fears, our lies, and all that is unworthy of our truest selves.  I dip my hands in the water I have poured into the large bowl upon my altar.  I run my wet fingers across my face, down my body.  So many things to release, so many things to let go of.  I let them flow into the waters, and flow into those Other waters I feel swirling around me but can not see with my physical eyes.  I offer them up to the Phantom Queen, until I feel bare and cleansed, and I think there is no other way to approach the Morrigan.  No other way to stand before her, except baring yourself to bone.

Macha Lughnasadh Ritual

      For myself Lughnasadh is a time to honor Macha.  In Ireland Lughnasadh was celebrated with games of skill and horses races.  One of the events during Lughnasadh was known as "óenach" which is glossed as "a contention of horses" and would have included swimming and racing horses (O'Donovan, pg. 127-128). It can be speculated that these races may have been a way to showcase the best of the herd and whose stock would be the most sought after for sale during such harvest festivals.  When we look to the Morrigan’s mythology there is a pretty significant horse race that occurs at an unnamed assembly.  We can only speculate that Macha races the king’s horse during this festival, but given Lughnasadh’s association with horse racing it would make sense.      
   For this ritual the quarter calls are less about the elements so much as telling the story of Macha’s race.  If doing this as a group ritual you may wish to read a version of the story to those gathered or create your own retelling (or re-enactment even) of the story for those who may not be familiar with it. 
   It goes something like this.  Macha appears one day at the door of a widower, she becomes his wife and as a result his fields become fertile, his house is set in order, and Macha becomes pregnant with twins.  When her husband leave to attend a great fair she tells him not to speak or boast about her.  He agrees but of course breaks his word and boasts that his wife is faster then the king’s  finest horses.  The wrong people overhear this and the kings tells him to prove the boast.  Macha heavily pregnant is forced to race the king’s horses, her pleas of mercy, asking to wait until her children are born, go unheard.  Being no ordinary woman she wins the race, but falls down upon the finish line and gives birth to twins, before passing back into the Otherworlds.  With her final breath she cursed the men of Ulster to feel the pangs of a woman in child birth in the hour of their greatest need, a curse that plays out in other myths concerning Ulster.
   Both the story and Lughnasadh make me think about sacrifice, about what we must or are willing to let go of to become whole or to achieve our dreams.  The harvest is a sort of sacrifice.  The plant’s life is ended to create food for us.  A necessary ending to fuel other life.  Similarly Macha  reminds us that sometimes sacrifices must be made.  We must go through trials by fire in life to accomplish our goals, to learn and grow.    

You Will Need:
Grain and whiskey (or other offerings to Macha)
Offering bowl
Candle or statue to represent Macha

Cast circle saying:
 
                 As Macha marked the boundary of  Emain Macha
          so do I mark the boundaries between this world and the Otherworlds,
                              between the realm of flesh and spirit,
                       between this time and that place beyond time,
                         where myth, truth, and mystery become one.

As you go to each quarter take a pinch of the grain and scatter it in each quarter (or in an offering bowl at each quarter if you are inside)
 
North:

                              Come Macha, come!
                            Faery, Goddess, Queen
                      From the faery mound you came
                        Macha with the red tresses
                         Hooded crow, mare mother,
                       Taking mortal flesh for a time

East:

                            Come Macha, come!
                          Faery, Goddess, Queen
           To Crundchu, son of Agnoman you came
                 Bringing with you your blessings
           Fields ripe with grain, vines heavy with fruit
                     Womb swollen with new life

South:

                           Come Macha, come!
                        Faery, Goddess, Queen
                             A boast fulfilled
                       A mother’s plea unheard
                 Across the king’s field you race,
               Hooves pounding upon the ground
                      Unstoppable, untamable

West:

                               Come Macha, come!
                             Faery, Goddess, Queen
                      A babe wails, the victory is won
                  A curse with a dying breath is uttered
     Shucking off your mortal form you are the crow again
          You become Macha of the faery fens once more

   Return to the center of the circle.  If using a candle to represent Macha light it.  Pour the whiskey and grain into the offering dish or on the ground if you are outside, saying:

                                         Beloved Macha
                      Sleek mare, Faery woman, Bold Queen
             You teach us that there can be no life without death
                      With every harvest there is a sacrifice
                           No beginning without an ending
                                    Come, Macha come!
                                 Be at our side O Macha,
                          Let us know the right times to let go
               And when to stand firm in our conviction and deeds

   Sit comfortably.  Take three deep breathes and relax.  Think about what you must sacrifice to achieve your goals and dreams.  Ask Macha to help you release all that hinders your path and to help you accomplish your goals.  If you have any spellwork planned do so now.

   When you are ready go to the north/east/south/west saying:
 
                        Faery, Goddess, Queen
                 Depart in peace beloved Macha!

Frequently Asked Questions of a Traveling Priestess

 
   In doing workshops and other events there tends to be a few questions that I am always asked.  They are all great questions and have led to some great conversations so I thought I would share them on the blog for those who haven’t seen me speak or gone to one of my workshops.  And if anyone else can think of any good questions feel free to ask here!

Morrigan and Morgan Le Fay are they the same?

   This is perhaps the most popular one.  This is my own opinion on the subject so if you feel differently there is nothing wrong with that!  Are they identical, one and the same- No.  Do I see a connection between the two- Yes.  When I work with the Irish Morrigan/Morrigu, I am working with the Morrigan.  When I work with Morgan Le Fay, I am working with Morgan Le Fay.  Their energies feel different to me.  But when we look to mythology I do see a connection, or perhaps the correct word would be evolution, between the two.  The etymology of their names are dramatically different, Morgan Le Fay comes to us from Welsh mythology and Morrigan from the Irish lore.  But like other gods like the Irish Lugh, who has a counter part in the Welsh lore as Lleu Llaw Gyffes, much of the ideas and deities that the Irish celebrated migrated to other regions.  I see many connections between the Welsh Modron and the Morrigan.  Like Lugh and Lleu they are not quite the same but the connection is still there.  Modron eventually evolved into Morgan Le Fay, both having the same husband and having many parallels within their stories. (I could write a whole blog about those connections so you can reference by book for more details)    For me the connection is there. I work with them separately but with that evolution in mind.  I take a similar approach with Lugh and Lleu, not the same but the connection is there.   

You compare the Morrigan to a lot of Goddesses in your book why?

   Part of the what I wanted to do with Celtic Lore & Spellcraft of the Dark Goddess: Invoking the Morrigan was to have everything you’d possibly want to know about the Morrigan in one place.  So that being said it is impossible to do that without going into all the goddesses that have been connected to (correctly or not) with the Morrigan.  Do I think they are interchangeable goddesses? No, absolutely not.  Goddesses like Modron, Aine, Nemain (who I consider to have been confused with Badb and be a separate deity) all have their own distinct energies.  They are connected to Morrigan, some in big ways and others in smaller ways, but they are not the same as the Morrigan. For example Lady Gregory tells us in her collection of Celtic lore that Aine was said to be the Morrigan herself.  There’s the connection, and it is worth exploring.  Whether you decide that connecting with Aine will further your study and worship of the Morrigan is up to you, but at very least it is important to note that there was a connection drawn between the two for whatever reason.  Same goes for Nemain who is only once mentioned along with Badb (one of the three goddesses that form the Morrigan) in the Cattle Raid of Cooley, and in my mind is a similar goddess who has come to be confused with Badb, and thus the Morrigan. When I first began searching for information about the Morrigan I came across these comparisons to other goddesses and I feel it is necessary for those working with Morrigan to explore theses connections and make their own decisions as to if they will be useful in the their own practices.           

Should we label the gods?  Why do you consider the Morrigan a Dark Goddess?

   When I think of the Morrigan I think of her just as the Morrigan.  Words like Mother come to mind- for she is my mother, and has become an inseparable part of me.  She is so many many things.  She embodies so many powerful lessons and guises.  It’s not hard to understand why she was seen as a shape-shifter, she doesn’t really like to be pinned down to one thing for very long.  But if I have to put a label on her Dark Goddess would be it.  Of course this all depends on what you consider “dark” to mean.  For me “dark” deities are gods that embody transformation, liminal deities, gods that deal with death, and are connected to the underworld.  Dark for me conjures up images of dark rich soil, fed by the decay of other life, yet nurtures the seed and new budding life.  It reminds me that I can never create without destroying.  These god challenge us, they lead us to transformation which is at its core a process of destruction to create anew.  They also embody the things we fear, which are usually the things we need to look at the most. 
   I don’t think that the Celts would have seen her as a dark goddess, they were closer and more at peace with the things she teaches, where we in modern times are not.  Who knows maybe in a hundred years Aphrodite will be a dark goddess to the pagans of the future.  The label of dark goddess is a starting point.  Just like saying Artemis is a moon goddess is just a starting point for her mysteries.  This of course brings up the idea of whether or not we should label the gods.  As humans we give things labels in an attempt to understand them, and wrap our heads around ideas and concepts.  It’s impossible to not try to categorize the gods, and that can be both a good and bad thing.  When we pigeon hole a deity and see only the label and fail to see what that deity is truly saying to us or embodies then it becomes a crutch and does not serve us spiritually.  It is something we have to remind ourselves not to do when working with any deity.  The Morrigan is a very well rounded figure, there is a lot to her personality and mysteries.  I call her a dark goddess based on my own definition of what a “dark” deity is, but she is far more than just that, just like any deity.         

Badb’s Song

Badb’s Song

“Over his head is shrieking A lean hag, quickly hopping,
Over the points of their weapons and shields.
She is the grey-haired Morrigu."

   A chorus sings below me. Throaty cries ring out, shouts and the clashing of shield and sword.  The power of the fray spirals up on the air.  It caresses black feathers, I sore higher and higher, following the call of battle frenzy, and the smell of mingled blood and sweat to those who whisper, shout and scream my name.  Blood spills upon the ground, life ebbs and flows.  They sacrifice their lives so easily, so willingly, so wastefully.  Some to protect those they love, some for valor, ideals, others pettiness and greed.  I drink it all in, the sweet and the bitter.  I am all of it, the frenzy, the battle madness, the power behind what makes men stand defiant.   I make them remember some things are worth dying for.
   When all is done, when all is quiet my feet touch the ground.  Feathers become pale flesh, talons nimble feet.  I am a shadow upon the battlefield.  My fingers brush cold skin, weaving moonlight, unbinding spirit from husk.  Over shields and weapons I glide gathering the dead as spirits rise from ruined flesh like morning mist.  If not for I who would care for the dead?  What god has the stomach for it?  Who would guide spirits and shades to rest, who will wash the bloody armor clean and bring the soul to rebirth, if not for I?  Birth and death are both a bloody thing, but I was never one to turn my head away from an un-pretty truth.  
   A crooning sound escapes my lips, and I sing.  “Your tether to life I unbind, your fate I unwind,   so in my halls this night you will dine…..”  I sing, and sing, of life and death and all that is in between, and spiritsgather.   They will call me the spirit of war, the crow of battle, and they will fear me.  But I am the one who makes life sweeter by reminding you it will one day end.  I am the one who gives you courage when you stand upon the precipice.  I am a necessary darkness, a necessary truth.