Come and take of the offerings of my offering table, as is the custom of each evening

by redvultureblacksaffron

I was on the treadmill the other day reading Red Land, Black Land and when I got to the section on papyrus, there was an immediate surge of child-like desire from my Name. I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT. This isn’t really out of character for Her, since I often seem to get atypical feelings from deities. I’ve never heard of anyone else claiming the Morrigan has a really terrible naughty sense of humor, for example. Some say this Name isn’t big on showing up and telling you stuff, but suffice to say that hasn’t been my experience. Well, I’ve never made a secret of my love for UPG!

So, papyrus. I promised Her she’d get some sheets of papyrus, maybe even a scribe’s kit. I ordered some of the paper the other day but have yet to find the old fashioned ink cakes and reed brushes. I also picked up some stones for each deity sharing space on my altar. I’m going to be away for awhile so I thought I’d get Them a sorry I can’t worship you every night like I usually do present.

Last night, as I was giving offerings and prayers, I had some experiences I think I’m allowed to share. The goddess Name came to me heavy and black, a formless presence. I closed my eyes to feel Her better and the fear was such that I had to open my eyes soon thereafter, maybe to make sure there wasn’t a leering skull staring at me, or to make sure my throat wasn’t about to be cut. Sometimes She is sweet and kind, the goddess of compassion, and other times She’s frightening and very much in my space, close enough to touch brows. I had to ask Her to back off a little once because it felt like She was going to suck all the energy out of my body.

But ultimately the night in question belongs to the Morrigan. I think I get the gift of shapechanging from Her, and though She makes a show of wanting sword play from me, what she really wants is a chase. I’m a white lion, a murder of crows, a shadow wisp, and She is always several steps ahead as we chase each other through the void. When She ends the chase I’m standing there in a humanoid form with white antlers strung with stars, and my eyes blaze white. I’m shocked by this form. I’ve never taken it before. She turns to me and smirks.

“Are you indulging Me just because you’ll be able to write about it on your precious little blog later?”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” I grumble, “you know I would never do that.”

She laughs. With me, She’s almost always laughing and joking, but in a rather bawdy and rough way. Not that She hasn’t come to me in Her serious forms before, but not too terribly often since I decided to accept Her and what She was telling me. See, I’d always been one foot (hoof?) in, one foot out in terms of spirituality. I was found by my first spirit teachers at nineteen years old, and before that I often felt visited by spirits or entities.

In the interests of full disclosure before I continue, I am schizoaffective (or I have bipolar psychosis, but at this point it seems my pdoc is leaning towards the former + other stuff), but ultimately it’s the delusional part that makes people doubt me spiritually. For a long time my understanding of psychology and the pressures of atheist friends and family kept me from committing, plus my deep seated fear of cults and mind control. I’ve since decided to stop worrying and accept that I am a polytheist, and that I feel the gods are real.

Anyway, even most of my friends and family don’t know this (so please try to treat me kindly on this front). Often times this disorder has been used against me, in the sense that because I have a delusional disorder all things I sense must be delusional. I have a few things to say to this 1) I am heavily medicated and still receive visions and experiences frequently that I would term as spiritual 2) my other symptoms, the ones that were ruining my life, have disappeared so the medication must be working. 3) I think sometimes, mental illness and spiritual sense, the godphone if you will, or ability to perceive the spirit world, either cause or exacerbate mental illness.

I have done a lot of thinking about how one of the Morrigan’s gifts is madness. I would say, how can one of Your gifts be madness? How can I call this thing that has in essence ruined my life in many significant ways a gift? But then I realized perhaps the gift is actually madness mastered, not madness out of control. There is nothing noble about suffering unduly. There is nothing spiritual about allowing a mental illness to ravage your life, your health, or your relationships.

The real warrior (and the Morrigan certainly wants warriors) work kicks in when you decide to do something about it, up to and including medication. Remember to me, god and the spirit are in all things. There is no divide between mundane achievements and divinity. A pill that can alter your brain chemicals is as much of god as a plant. To me, I look at medicine and medication as, in its best form, the outgrowth of god and human coming together to create something incredible. Similar perhaps to how ancient Egyptians felt about the bread that so often sustained them.

The Morrigan boots me out of the void when we’re done. Osiris-Wesir claps his hands, delighted, because He knows it’s time to receive His gifts and prayers. He seems like a little ball of excitement and energy to me often; maybe we’re both in the honeymoon stage of having found one another. “You who are the Ba of Ra, for whom the pomegranate tree flowered…”

I think about the project I’ve undertaken for Him. Where I live, serial killers are unusually active and as I did quite a bit of study on the topic, I’ve always felt drawn to the victims especially. Compared to the murderers they get so little attention. A plan started to formulate, that I would seek out the places these particular victims were last seen, or their grave sites, and leave memorial items. Then I discovered that one of these girls is buried in the graveyard up the road from my house. The problem is, her grave isn’t listed as far as a specific number and section, and there are SEVEN THOUSAND graves in this graveyard.

This means I have to go section by section to find her, which is going to be the work of several days. The first day I went, I felt an odd anxiety. Normally I love graveyards. They’re peaceful, and there’s a quiet to them that can’t be recreated anywhere else. Still, this feels like the right thing to do. I’ll certainly make further posts about it once I find the proper grave.

Thanks for reading.

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