The Morrigan

The Morrigan or..

Great Queen

Last night I spent my time with The Blood (red wine) The Feather (crow) and The Egg (duck).
A lot of people think that The Morrigan is one Goddess. She is of course a multitude. All her names have deep meaning and symbolism.
In a culture than minimises emotion and women she seems all the more odd. She has links with the Fae of course, for her memory is old and deep.
 Badb The Feather. The Crow. Omens and meanings. The whisper of souls returning. Fate and glory. Death and loss. She morns. She sees it all. She keens. Mortals do not listen well. The guide of the restless dead.
Macha The Egg. New beginnings. False starts. Painful births. Secrets revealed. Fragile life. Small sacrifices. Promises. The land speaks. The land listens. Matriachal lines. Women's wisdom and curses.
Nemain The Blood. Passion. Frenzy. Fury. Untamable. Poisonous rage. Burning in the fight. The peace of letting go fully to the desire. The singing red mist. A whirlwind of blades.

There has always been much of the Morrigu Morrigan Morriganua about me.
As someone who speaks with and for the dead. As someone who gives warnings and messages to the living (rarely listened to) and someone with the red mist in her blood, with a power and fury that makes most who see it re-think women as the weaker sex.
Yet she has always frightened me. Proctected me but I felt and was shamed by this warrior in my blood. Yet she has kept me alive. Protected me as I protected others.
The red mist was a sign of my weakness, not my strength. Yet as I trained. As I punched and weaved and listened to that fury just under my surface, we worked together.
Only when some asshole tried to break my leg did it bloom into the red flower I feared would kill or mame.
So then another Godess held me gracefully in the cup of her small hands. The bloom grew, then whithered and died. For The Blood, also quietened me. My daughter's presence saved me, and them.
How powerful The Blood is. How much passion and power, love and family bind us in ways we do not understand.
Last night I honoured all of that in my dancing. In my healing, and accepting of my frustration. My sublination of rage was not working. I was just snapping at other's instead. I had to admit I was angry. I had to admit that depending on other's makes me vulnerable. That people will let me down. That that is part of life. That being vulnerable and trusting other's is part of the process. I am not The Great Queen. People won't do what I want them to, when I want them to. People will treat me like I am an idiot. Yet that is their problem, and letting it make me angry is not smart.
I am at peace with my passion.

Bright Blessings  xxx