This ritual and meditation were written for a friend that requested it. I’ve been getting more requests to write rituals and I couldn’t be more happy to help! This meditation was written so that the individual can encounter the darkest part of themselves alongside The Morrigan. Visualization is every thing in Magick and by working with a meditation in story form, it is my will that the practitioner will be able to follow along and connect with the same energies used to create this piece. A way of working together long distance on Magick even through we have never physically met. In writing this work, I am sharing a huge part of myself and sacrificing some vulnerabilities all at the same time. All are welcome to read along and work this ritual if you feel compelled to do so.
You can use the meditation below to help you focus on The Morrigan. You can always replace she with he or however you chose to identify your gender.
- Soft music or whatever kind of music is needed to enter a relaxed state of mind.
- 1 White pillar candle (it must stand freely on it’s own. ) A black candle is preferable, white is acceptable if black can not be found. Dress this candle with whatever oils speak to you. It is preferred that you use a perfume of cologne that identifies you. You can etch your sigil or spiritual name into the candle if you have one. Do not leave any candles burning unattended during this ritual. Always practice fire safety.
- A plate (this plate will only be used for spiritual purposes, not one that is used for eating and mundane tasks.)
- Offering to The Morrigan (this can vary widely depending upon the devotee. It must be something that is a sacrifice to you. A favorite kind of chocolate or wine that will only be given over to The Morrigan is the exact offering that should be looked for over a generic one that is listed on some website. Sacrifices should be personal to the participant. If black licorice is your thing, then offer it to The Morrigan so She can bond with you.
- Herbs: The herbs that would be preferable to use are: Mandrake, to add a wicked kick to your magick, Lemongrass to act as a healing agent upon you, and Dragon’s blood as a representation of the bloody, battle Queen. Place all of these herbs at the base of your candle or if you have them in essential oil form, dress the candle in these fragrances. You can also use the seed of Nightshade to act as the assassin of doubtful thoughts. You can always substitute herbs, keeping with the theme above. It’s also advised that you speak to each of these ingredients to activate and awaken them. Breath upon them to combine your life force with theirs.
- Petition paper and pen
- A warm bath (combine whatever soaps and oils you need to feel like a Goddess. Plain water with salt works too. I prefer to use Himalayan salt for my baths.
- A print-out of this ritual
- Smudging items to cleanse yourself and your ritual tools. This can be sage, cedar, lavender incense, epazote, or Palo Santo bark.
- A mirror (one that can be stood up on it’s own while you read the meditation out loud and put behind your petition candle.) This amplifies the work and sends it back on you after competition. You’re the focus of this working. It’s also good to become very familiar with the reflection on the other side of the looking glass.
- Fire-proof bowl or cauldron. This will be used to burn the petition when the time comes. Have a small cup of water on hand in case it’s necessary to dose the flames. When this ritual is done, you will be casting all of the ingredients and unlit ashes into the grounds around your home for grounding purposes.
Assemble your supplies. Draw your bath and prepare your ritual copy. Clean your ritual space. Call Quarters in your own way.
Call upon The Morrigan in your own way. Speak to Her as you would royalty. Regard Her as an equal in your presence and acknowledge Her presence when it shows its self. This will be through many forms. Some of these ways will be obvious such as a wrapping on the wall, some of them more subtle like a change in mood or shift of consciousness. Either way, speak to this Goddess with the reverence you would show a Queen. Light your candle and enter the meditation. Take time to visualize my words and connect with the Sovereign. Best of luck to all of you seeking guidance through Her.
A ragged warrior is walking upon a battlefield of broken glass and dreams. Her breath is shallow and her pace is beginning to slow to a lethargic grind. The war has persisted as long as she can remember. What started it, what fueled it, and how she came to be in this predicament are lost in the recesses of her cloudy mind. Pain, suffering, and anguish have been the constant training companions of this lonely heroin. The desolate, monochromatic surroundings are shaken by an eerie wind. Ash and decay are caught up in the gale and cause the dead-eyed soldier to stop and take notice of the sudden change. A banshee’s cry fills the hollows of the landscape.
The warrior stops and stands at attention upon a lifeless knoll. Abruptly, a flock of ravens glides overhead singing to the broken bodies of her deceased comrades and foes alike. The conspiracy of ravens circles the bloody trenches and crumbling trees that mark the acreage. The armor on her body begins to feel almost too heavy to bare and before she can control herself, her sword commences to fall helplessly at her side. It is no longer a matter of defending one’s self from the elements of the outside world, it has now become a siege of mind and wit that begin to overtake the madness and desperation that are caged within the fleshy prison of her being.
As the unkindness of ravens, ash, and rot begin to perilously overtake the maiden of the battle, nipping and ripping at her only defenses, something begins to stoke within the heart of our furious hero. It begins as just a thought that travels down the seemingly endless path of yet another rabbit hole. This arrangement of neurons energized by the soul forms a protective barrier around the young albeit haggard woman. Gritting her teeth, the once glazed-over eyes begin to light up as the torrential swarm of painful memories one again attack what little refuge is left. “No more,” she whispers.
“No more?!” a voice bellows from the vapors of gloom and cheerlessness. A fiercely gorgeous yet glorious figure emerges from the veil of chaos and darkness surrounding the warrior. “What gives you the right to tell me when to let up?” The seductively red velvet voice hisses from beneath Her crimson cloak as She appears before the bedraggled lady. “Do you know who I am?”
“I know who You are,” the parched vice of the woman almost completely startles herself into silence as she slowly tries to speak to the sublime specter before her.
“Then speak My name!” The voice of the Goddess strikes like a cracking whip upon the lazy hide.
“You are the one cruelly started this battle! You are a Goddess! You are The Morrigan!” The lady warrior shoots back in retaliation. The melancholy torture within her begins to unfurl like a poisonous viper with it’s gaze carefully set on this new foe. Beginning to feel some of the life-fire rekindling and returning to her, the woman stands a little taller and faces this veiled apparition on the barren arena. “Your lust of Chaos and deceit knows no bounds and for that I have suffered!”
The Morrigan throws back Her pale visage for a moment in the throes of delightful, almost drunken laughter. Pure black corvid wings begin to unfold and carry Her just a few feet off the ground. A royal aura of deep, purple energy begins to encircle the Goddess, making Her look even more enchanting as She begins to toothily bite Her lower lip. As She hovers there like a prolific view of one’s irrefutable destiny, the Death Goddess can only smile a toothy grin and turn Her head slightly to the side. The cocky expression and overall air of confidence unnerve the woman before Her.
The warrior begins to quake for just a moment as she takes in the terrifying sight before her. Her breath quickens and the once limp grasp on the sword begins to tighten. Slowly it rises and points it’s self in the direction of the battle-slick Goddess. The Great Sovereign Queen can only wickedly grin at the display. Is it foolishness? Is it bravery? Perhaps a mixture of both, yet all of these things only serve to further delight the Great Phantom Queen. “I will not submit to You and Your powers!” Shrieks the soldier as she stands a bit taller, a faint tinge of ruby returning to her own lips as she forcefully speaks the words of defiance against this twisted vision of destruction and grace.
“Submit? You confuse me. Answer think long and answer quickly when I speak. Did you not stand at my side, lady?” The Goddess asks from Her lofty perch, just out of the reach of the young woman. Her voice is the tone of Vanilla and Patchouli. Warm, earth, with a bit of a sharpness to it that can’t be hidden. “Were you not a Queen, with the power and responsibility that came with it?”
“I was,” the warrior’s voice drifted yet her eye contact did not break from The Morrigan.
“Did I not teach you to laugh in the face of your fears? Did I not give you the gift of being a Queen in your own right and not allowing others to control your destiny?”
“You did,” she answered back, coolly as ever. The wall around her was beginning to build back up. The anger inside was only serving to nourish the life force inside of her that had almost given up.
“Then why do you act as less? Do you not see the real enemy or has all of our training been a futile act? Why do you see as you see and why is the anger so strong inside of you? Ask yourself, why am I the one to blame?”
The weather-worn face and brawl-beaten facade began to fade away as the words of the Banshee Goddess pierced into the core of Her being. There was no lying to or hiding from this splendid divinity. There was no excuse or thought she could bring forward that seemed like it could be the right answer. The Goddess was patient with her and looked deeply into verdant crystalline forest pools that matched Her own. The women shrunk back and became a mere girl to the very words that were spoken from those ripened lips.
“I am tired.” She spoke thoughtfully to The Morrigan.
“Tired is what happens when we have succumb to our worst fears. When we have lost connection with that which is worth fighting for and protecting. The malaise you feel around you and the burning of life within you are in reverse. You are the loathing and neglectful of yourself and life burns ever more brighter around you in sharp contrast. Life is imploring you with all that it is, the song of birds and the sting of the wind, to blaze as brightly as the world around you. This is not reality. This is your enemy.”
Slowly, The Goddess suspended an silver, oval mirror in front of the girl. Her heart-rate quickened, a lungful of breath now wantonly craved by willing being, and the pulse of will returned to Her as if on cue. Fear of what the mirror showed almost ebbed away like the forgotten tides in the emanation of the Goddess and girl making contact. The fear remained and the girl did not look in the mirror.
“I let some one else have control of me and my destiny.” The little girl admitted to the Goddess.”I felt helpless to stop it. Like there was nothing I could do except accept it and move on.”
“Do you accept this notion now? Is this the story you would write yourself if you were once again author?” asked the Goddess sternly. Thunder gently rolled in the distance as if to accent the voice of the divine.
The warrior-child beheld the ugly front lines that surrounded her from every angle. There was not a place that was not not ravaged by the terrors inflicted during the bloodshed. Not a friend, ally, or compatriot standing in midst of the unending slurry of bone and flesh. Asunder and polluted, the landscape was crooked and broken and littered with piles of crushed mirrored glass.
“I accept what has been done here,” The girl croaked back as tears ran hotly down her cheeks. Her body began to shake in stark realization of her past actions. “I do not accept that it must remain this way.” she offered to The Morrigan.
“How did it happen?” spoke the Goddess in a commanding tone. The girl felt the rippling voice push her ever closer to the mirror in which she refused to gaze upon. “Look in the mirror and see the truth!” The girl cried in pain and felt her eyes forced upon. It was not at the hand of The Morrigan, yet compelled from the spirit that was housed within the girl. The higher self came forward to give strength to the situation at the beckoning of knowing that something else must be done in spite of the cowardice.
Looking into the mirror. The girl saw a breath-taking field of brightly painted foliage. She saw her younger self free from the menace of pain and misery that haunted her now. She envied for just a moment the carefree disregard of the blossoming version of herself that bobbed along the grassy expanse. She marveled at the brightness of her eyes and the newness of her singing voice. For just a moment she felt she could reach out and grasp back at herself through the very veil of time and space.
The dream image of herself stopped for a moment. The sky darkened and the clouds rolled in. The delicate petals of the flowers were crushed by an unseen force. The girl was pillaged and ravaged by an enemy concealed in shadows. Crying out was a futile process as her youthful screams were diminished by the Chaotic storm that over swept the scope of the mirror.
The vision ended with the girl slowly aging forward to becoming the woman warrior. Her armor thick and chipped, her hair wild and ragged, and her gaze becoming more dull over time. The Morrigan regarded the girl, brave enough to face the bitter truth of the mirror. She softly spoke to the student before her.
“None of us dwell in that place of peace and happiness very long. Life is a constant struggle of survival. We are bettered by what we chose to over come. A fight that is ongoing does not need to be one carried out in squalor. Remember that you created what you see around you and that in your pain and suffering, you cried out to Me. Remember what I stand for, not only a Queen, yet an Ambassador of Death. I give now that sweet death to you, my worthy friend. Not many can look into the mirror of The Morrigan and face the truth they have created for themselves.”
The girl trembled at the words of the Phantom Queen. She knew now that this life that she had created for herself would now immediately come to an end. She watched as The Morrigan offered her a small box. Curiously, the girl opened the box as what she was expecting did not seem to happen. She gently regarded each item as she unwrapped the small square package. Within the box was a candle, some oils, a black crystal, and a few herbs to fix a candle. There was a small petition paper and a finely inked quill that seemed to beckon her.
“Write,” ordered The Morrigan, “And Witch, heal thyself.”
The girl nodded her head slowly and found her eyes falling upon the paper. She wrote out her sadness, her agony, her aching needs and unquenchable thirsts. She wrote of every harrowing memory, wrongful lover, and lost opportunity. She guided the pen along the page as if she was guiding herself over the course of her own life. At once, she spoke these words aloud as she burned the petition over the fire. “These acts of sadness and misery have no dominion over me. I am Sovereign!” And with that, she burned the petition in the smoke of the lit candle. “In the sacred name of The Battle Crow! SO MOTE IT BE!”
Throwing back Her head gleefully, the Goddess shrieked accompanying battle cry. The land around them began to rumble and awaken. No longer sleeping, the mind roared to motion and life surged head. The monochromatic exterior gave way to a shock of color and light not unlike the vision of childhood. The fallen bodies of friend and foe alike had become old growth trees. The memories of insecurities, betrayals, and abuse had all become stars in the endless night sky. The hideous landscape of a tortured countryside transmuted into the brilliance of an old Empire.
“You are walking with a Crone,” the silken voice of The Morrigan purred into the ear of the girl who now looked like her previous age. She had become again a woman. This time, her armor shown brightly in the dying sun and star gleam of twilight. “This is now your Kingdom. It’s not as it once was, and you are not the Princess you felt you were entitled to be. Now you are the ruler of an empire that once fell and was rebuilt. Things will never be as they were, so do not bother to mourn them. Instead, look around and see the wonder of a Kingdom reborn.” The pearly face of the mirror began to give away murkily and the woman warrior felt the need to walk through it at last to the life that waited on the other side.
Slowly the waters of rebirth encompassed the form of the woman. This was not the baptism of her youth, this was not the patriarchal urging of the evangelical Church that had ensnared her in fear, this was total and complete transformation that was afforded to her by the devotion to the Death Goddess.
The ability to see beyond the illusion of comfort and to the very cold stare of her worst fears. Death is finite and through The Phantom Queen, the warrior felt herself slowly rising from the bathtub. The rose-scented waters splashed to and throw as she rose and wrapped a towel around her form. The bathroom door was being pounded on while her children impatiently waited on the other side of the door. Steam and vapors danced on the mirror to her left just above the porcelain sink. The woman looked into the reflective surface and made eye contact with the Goddess on the other side.
As the responsibilities began to pile upon her shoulders at the end of this mental session, the woman recognized at once that she bared a sacred responsibility. She saw within herself the fallen empire that was on the rebuild. As Empress, she could construct whatever she wished from the ashes of past mistakes. She could mix inexperience and folly like mud and straw, or scale impossible mountains made of anxiety to mine dazzling gems and precious granite. Drying off the last of the watery comfort of the bath, the woman faced herself in the mirror and grinned as wickedly as her teacher. The door opened sightly as one of her children pushed it forward. The heavenly golden sunlight peaked through at very long last. The dawn had come on the darkest of nights.
This was now her territory. It would no longer be a prison. It would be a Sovereign’s empire. SO MOTE IT BE!
Thank you for reading along with this meditation. It is my will that this meditation and ritual help folks make contact with The Morrigan and align with the Dark moon energies so that they can face the darkness within themselves. Don’t forget to extinguish you candle and leave offerings upon your altar for the continued help of The Battle Crow. Close quarters as you would any other ritual.
Please don’t hesitate to ask questions or leave comments below. – Shining Quill the Unicorn