I heed her call from atop my hill by Mikayla McCarthy

My sword arm is ready and my heart open and true,
My bow is steadfast and strong, my skin painted blue,
My armour of leather keeps my body prepared,
My hands ready to heal, my soul honestly bared,
My eyes are seen to point to the stars,
My words are calming to those who bare scars,
My eyes fill my mind with the drops of the night,
My words turn commanding on those without light,
My voice is steady and sweet when the gentle speak,
But roar with fury when the dangerous leap.

For twenty four years my soul walked this earth,
And in the past year finally found peace and mirth,
The Morrigan calls now for the very first time,
For me to ring true to my spirit’s design,
There’s a strong Celt Silure that sits in this mind,
And she’s ready to see, no longer blind,
She’s a soul of passion and warrior’s build,
Celtic and strong walking in to the guild,
The Morrigan calls me, I will heed her word,
And continue to speak so Her voice is still heard

Written by Mikayla McCarthy – recently discovering and answering the call of the Morrigan. You can find Mikayla on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/welshwitchmccarthy

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Honouring the Blood: Call of the Morrigan by Awen Clement

As dusk fell we closed the gates to the ordinary world, allowed the land to envelop and cradle us. Quietly we came, healers and priests, craftsmen and warriors, gathering in Her name. Raven Queen, Battle Crow, Morrigan.

We cast a circle of light and dark, of flame and blood and weaving.  We asked the land to hold us, we asked the ancestors to stand with us, to guide us and guard us. We called our Queen in rich voices of fire and honour.


We cleansed away the old versions of ourselves, prepared to step into new skins, new shapes of our souls.  One by one, turn by turn we submitted to the needle. Gave our blood and received her mark. Gave shape to our prayers, made promises in ink. Witnessed by our brothers and sisters, nurtured by the hearth fire.

We wove together a pattern of story and song, of prayer and devotion as the land and the ancestors looked on. Brave voice of the young spoke in honour and faith. Men cried tears of truth. Women wove prayer and flame in devotion. Some sang in voices not their own and the drum echoed the heartbeat of the world.


And the Great Queen heard us call. She came to us. Accepted our offerings of blood and flesh and honouring. Some trembled, some wept, but all held steadfast in the truth of her sight. Her voice like the gentle roar of the river, we were held out of time. She gave voice of both warning and blessing.We gave thanks, we feasted and then one by one and two by two we slipped away, across land and sea. Returning home, forever changed, ready to face what is to come.And so it was done. The ashes went cold and the land fell quiet.

 ****

This writing is a reflection of my experience at Honouring the Blood: Call of the Morrigan Retreat 2016.Awen Clement – 2016 (c) This piece was originally posted at www.wildmagpiewoman.blogspot.co.uk

Awen is the Wild Magpie Priestess who serves The Morrigan and Brigid. She leads circles and workshops in the West Midlands (UK).
www.wildmagpie.co.uk
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This is my pain by Izzy Swanson

This is my pain

I long to grow. I feel the pull to something larger, something more than me. Something in me knows I will heal from this. My heart’s desire waits for me on the other side.

Deep down in the darkness inside of me I feel the shadow around my soul. It pulls at me from deep within my womb. I find in the darkness a frightened little girl. She holds me tight. She begs me not to leave the shadows.” What are you afraid of? Who made you feel this way?” I can hear the years of words spoken to me of my soul’s damnation and she says to me, “If I leave this darkness people might see me. They will see my pain. I will be unclean. It will hurt them. It will scare them. I will be weak. I can’t let people see me. I can’t be weak.” “What are you really afraid of?” “That I will fail, that I don’t belong here. I am a fraud. If they see me I will lose all that I love.” She falls into my arms weeping.

The memories of hidden pain resurface. I hold her. I love her. I make her promises. I cannot go until we are whole until she trusts me enough to protect her, until she is safe. This, this is darkness. This is trauma. This is pain. We hide inside of it. We run to it. It saves us. How could we ever believe that it isn’t all our fault? How can we ever believe that the world outside will accept us when we watch our world pretend that people like us don’t exist? When we watch our world remind us that we deserved it? How will we ever feel safe enough to climb out if we can’t believe that we will be loved, that someone will see our pain and say I will not run?

Izzy Swanson – 2016 (c)

www.transformationreiki.com
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