This page was first published on my polytheist Tumblr blog, Bean Chaointe, but due to some technical issues I decided it was better to host this here.
Disclaimer: This is not meant to present itself as the end-all, be-all of resources concerning the Morrígan. The information here is information that I have found useful, but I absolutely do not claim any authority. YMMV.
If there is something you would like to see linked on here or if you’re the owner of something you would like removed, please let me know. All credit goes to the creators of their own work; I own nothing but what I’ve written myself, which has been marked with an asterisk for transparency.
This page is a work of love, devotion, and practicality. It’s for the Morrígan, as herself and themselves, and for any of us who have tasted her names in the blood on our lips, and it’s a never-ending work in progress.
Table of Contents
- Introductions & History
- Her Cult
- Contemporary Reflections on the Morrígan, Sovereignty, War, & Death
- Tumblr Devotees and E-shrines
- Books, Sites, & Organizations
Last updated: 13 March 2016
Overall, I’m an angry person. To those who know me, yes, I know it’s a shock. I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself.
I’m angry about a lot of things: past traumas, deaths, my mental illnesses, the continued character assassination of Tony Stark in the comic universe, people who invalidate other people’s feelings. And I’m not alone. Anger is probably one of the most common, and sometimes the easiest, emotional responses to a lot of the world’s bullshit. When it comes to abuse survivors, I argue it’s one of the healthiest ones because it indicates that a) the person is a physical space safe enough to feel that they can express the anger, and b) that they have some level of belief, when the anger is directed at their abuser(s), in their own basic self-worth. You don’t get angry if you feel like you deserved what you got or that it ‘doesn’t matter,’ right?
But anger isn’t for everyone, and that’s a good thing! Gods know we need people who are merciful, who are understanding, to keep the rest of us from completely losing our shit. A community of warriors isn’t going to last long if it doesn’t have its healers and farmers and creators and basically everyone else. It’s everyone else that give warriors something to fight for in the first place.
We need more support services for polytheist survivors of domestic violence. I’m just going to put that out there.
A friend recently asked me to serve as a priestess for a teenage kid who had been through some terrible traumas, including sexual violence from partners, and wanted some kind of cleansing ritual. It took some time to tease out the reason behind it, but eventually the kid described an experience that would be familiar to many within the polytheist and magical communities involving another entity. Anyone outside of those communities, however, most likely would have dismissed it as a creative imagination or an indication of mental illness. While the kid obviously does have some mental illness, likely caused by prolonged and repeated trauma from his not-too-distant past, what ultimately matters isn’t what the rest of us thinks should be real but the fact that this experience was very real for him and affected him deeply. Unfortunately, the manifestation of this kid’s trauma response and the way he chose to address it would be seen by many as the actual problem, not a symptom of something deeper.
…aka How I Incorporate My Polytheism into Dealing with My PTSD from Intimate Partner Violence: A Preliminary Report.
Faith shows up in a lot of therapy already. One of the first steps of the famous 12-step substance abuse program involves believing in a power higher than yourself, and there are multiple survivor advocacy organizations coming from the perspective of one religion or another. The only two groups for polytheists I could find for domestic violence (DV) and intimate partner violence (IPV), however, appear to be all but dead, and one seems more focused on issues like addiction. Polytheists can be just as devout, religious, and/or spiritual as those of any other religion, and while advocacy and counseling groups are absolutely essential and effective, it’s more difficult for those of us for whom our healing is closely entwined with our religious practice.
This is why I have a group dedicated to polytheist-oriented DV support in the works in its own small corner of the Internet. But I feel weird proposing such a thing that will, by its nature, involve people sharing experiences not just of trauma but their religious beliefs without being willing to do the same myself, so I wrote this article, the process of which has made me uncomfortable, depressed, and angry by turns. It starts with some background, but you can skip it because the general outline isn’t unlike the stories of many other survivors. There should still be enough context to understand the last part, which is about how my PTSD and polytheistic practice intersect, so if you’d like to take a pass on the TMI, jump down to “Enter the Gods, Stage Right.”
My sincere hope is that this provides something constructive, even if it’s just for one person. Let’s hope I don’t fuck it up, if only because sharing this level of detail feels a little like pulling fingernails and leaving the raw beds exposed to the air.
Hush, this is my article, I’m allowed to be dramatic.
If you go into philosophy or religious studies thinking to find answers to questions of faith, of the divine, of those mysteries that have had so much power over human lives for at least as long as Homo sapiens has been around, you’re doomed to failure from the start. Fair warning: what you’ll find instead is several crises of faith, 2 AM bouts of drunkenness over existential why me‘s, and a hatred so deep for That Guy In Philosophy 101 that the Mariana Trench looks like a crack in the sidewalk. It got to the point that, for a long time, if it couldn’t be replicated in a scientific setting or be logically explained, I would roll my eyes at the religious sheeple who could chew on such bullshit.
And then, like Hume’s sun deciding to sleep in late one day, like the Average Kid who suddenly finds out he’s a wizard, everything changed. It occurred to me that if no one can accurately define what the divine is in any objective way, then how can it be concluded with any certainty that it doesn’t exist? And, well, why not believe?
I’ve seen Pagans dismissing the reality of cultural appropriation as the shrill cries of people “playing the race card,” being too sensitive, or actively looking for something to get offended over. The particulars on why it’s a legitimate problem have been addressed at great length elsewhere, but it’s a subject that seems to make the most people get the most defensive more quickly than any other. Why?