The Morrigan’s Test
I still haven’t thought of an elegant way to begin these posts because you don’t know me and I don’t know you. These posts are much more personal compared to the other blogs I maintain in far different circles. In that spirit, here we go:
So, normally I don’t mention much about the trials in my life or my disabilities or whatever. Partly this is because any time someone mentions that they have more than two conditions, people start turning the skepticism up to eleven. It’s like a person is only allowed to have so many problems before cries of special snowflake start to ring out. Sure, there are people who feel the need to armor themselves in labels, but complicated constellations of trauma, illness, and disability definitely exist.
I live that reality every day. I’m telling you about it now because I had an experience with the Morrigan and I think She’d like me to share it. Sometimes it’s hard for me to discern the Morrigan’s mind. My Name (of Netjer, who I won’t identify because I don’t feel ready to do so) comes to me a thousand times stronger, when She has time to show up. Still, I think I’m being pushed to this so here we go.
Suffice to say that in my life, I’ve been assaulted repeatedly and in a variety of ways. I was also raised by a narcissist, my father. He never acted out against me in a physical or sexual way, but he did expect an adult emotional relationship from me in a way I now realize was inappropriate. He was also very grandiose, with tons of upfront superficial charm. Yet he would play power games over things like calling people by nicknames whether they liked it or not. For those of you who understand the powers in names, you can probably see what a sinister move this is.
He also loved to bait people, especially me. Often when a narcissist raises more than one child, one kid becomes the scapegoat and the other becomes the golden child. I’m the scapegoat. I was also very sensitive and had a variety of psychological problems that made me an easy target. He would constantly needle me until I exploded, then turn around and accuse me of being too emotional. There’s tons and tons of stuff I’m not telling you about, but this post isn’t meant as some kind of messy therapy cry for help thing so we’ll leave it at that.
The thing is, when you’ve been attacked enough you start to react in ways outside of your control when it happens again and again. It’s another way for your abusers to control you and take away your agency. It’s also a symptom of PTSD . Hyperarousal takes your choices away.
For a long time I perceived the Morrigan as attacking me over and over. Sometimes She came at me in a way that seemed almost adolescent, a teenager shouting and crying and pulling my hair. Then at night She would come in Her death aspect (which is really the only aspect I usually perceive. She’s never really revealed herself to me as a full triple goddess, but this is true of all deities who have touched me. Even when paired with others, I never get the full pair) as a frightening spirit, filling my dreams with maggots and decay. (the whole sanitizing a death goddess thing will certainly be another post, but remember She is the goddess of crime scenes, of decay, of murder. Every time someone cuts their wrists in the bathtub, She is there. When your head is nothing but a squishy container for maggots and flies, She is there)
I kept reacting to Her without thinking, fighting Her back, panicking. The way I would react to my Dad, or to other long term abusers. Without agency. Without thought. Out of fear.
And then I unsheathed my sword and struck Her with cunning and aforethought. Many times we had faced each other on the black plane of the void realm, many times She had attacked me, and though I had the gift of shapechanging that She herself taught me, desperation was always my first feeling.
Just before this, I finally cut my Dad out of my life completely. He hid his true nature from me for a long time. I idolized him when I was younger. I couldn’t see it for so long, despite my degrees, despite all my research about personality disorders. When someone is that close, they have a million disguises at their disposal.
I couldn’t see the real test before. She was asking me to establish boundaries, to say this far but no farther, even to Her. The Morrigan doesn’t always want quiescent servants, but warriors and battle priests. The day I lifted my blade and threw Her back with thought and autonomy, She disengaged from the fight and looked across the field at me, even as I met Her eyes. The sense of being needled left me.
Remember, some deities are asking you for fire and self love instead of biddable devotion.