|Cover art by Arna Baartz|
Anger is at the roots, inviting a kind of war.
It burns and bubbles there, wrathful, terrible and necessary, daring to break the chains of apathetic thinking.
It is the combustive element that lights a spark amongst the gunpowder, until all the rotten foundations are burning, breaking under their outdated weight, and with a snap of reckoning, change is ushered in: the whole prison comes tumbling down.
Beyond the Morrigan's anger there is only ashes; remnants of what once was that did not serve and so met its end.
Here she extends a soot-stained hand inviting you to mark your face ready for battle, to grit your teeth through the thin veneer of the extinct that lines them, to cry out for justice and change, to howl and gnash in defiance.
We live in a world where it is fashionable to be well-liked, beautiful in your softness, appeasing and compliant.
Simply smile, and carry on. Don't make waves. Speak softly and flash your flesh. Make them like you.
But the Morrigan was never one for platitudes.
She is the overstretched jaw screaming for bloody justice, mouth tearing at the cheeks beyond the level of comfort, her teeth bared wide, sharp, and menacing.
Muscular and limber, ready to crush skulls, or a phantom displaying all the discomforts of Death, like a veil stretched over a rotten corpse.
All depending on Her mood, of course, She never was one for standing still, or fulfilling expectation. Describing her aesthetic is like grabbing at water.
Her anger is deep and dangerous, shifting the narrative of entire worlds with a countenance designed for dread... your comfort level is not required.
You grow in pain.
Morrigan trucks in blood, and pain, and death, and prophecy.
You cannot live in anger, not always, because you become senseless and blind, but without it, you become a cold shell of yourself, disastrous in your neglect of self. Laying down to die, because all the fight has drained. And The Morrigan guards your death, tailor picked by Her bloody hand, knowing ahead of time where and when you will fall. It belongs to Her, and inviting otherwise incites a simmering rage.
To court such emptiness, to give up the ghost, to forget everything that should matter... is not acceptable.
And so She stands crooked on one left limb, screeching insults to get a rise, to torment you into action, any action, as long as you move.
And you will move.
Trust and believe.
When the Morrigan calls to us, it will be in the hardest times of our lives, when we are wracked with pain, fear, guilt, or languish into despondency or apathy.
It takes courage to answer Her, and stay by her side, as She forges you anew from the fires of your hurt, your anguish… and so I honour all of those within these pages for their bravery, their honesty, and their integrity in speaking of their experiences.
And to Jess, a glorious warrior and dear friend.
Hail to the Morrigan
Mother to my Glory
Mother of my story
Speak all who died before me
Hail to the Morrigan
Preface to our upcoming anthology, Warrior Queen: Answering the Call of The Morrigan.
Joey Morris is a Celtic Creatrix and UK-based daughter of The Morrigan. She is an author, creatrix CEO of Starry Eyed Supplies, and co-owner of the What the Flux podcast.
“To become a tempered blade of The Morrigan, one must be baptized in blood and fire. These struggles within my lifetime have led me to become a voice for the voiceless, to reach out to the broken, and to poke the shadows in others so that they might begin to heal.
Such a path is dangerous. But so are we. This is the birth of a wild witch who sees with their 'other eyes' and treads the path of edges, sharp and unusual, but filled with adventure, magick of the liminal and the in-between spaces.” – Joey Morris
Within the spiritual landscape, her soul mission is to deepen the understanding of our interconnectedness by both honouring the sacred and exploring the masks of the self through channelling relationships to the Divine through written work, poetry, videos,