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Hymn to the Morrigan #8

Hymn to the Morrigan #8

Last updated on: December 11, 2014 at 9:09 pm by Asa West

Hymn to the Morrigan #8 2014-12-11T21:09:19-08:00 Asa West

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Note: this is the latest in a series of hymns I’ve been writing to the Morrigan. Links to previous hymns are at the bottom of the post. When I first wrote this one a few weeks ago, I had in mind the blackness of occult (occluded) knowledge, the blackness of death and the womb, the black heart of innocence. In light of the grand jury decisions and #blacklivesmatter, though, the relevant lines seem to take on an additional meaning. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it–it feels a little like appropriation–but after I played around with different lines, I had to acknowledge the Morrigan’s insistence that this was the way the poem should be. I suppose it’s useful to remember that, before a vitamin D deficiency in Northern Europe spurred a fluke in skin pigmentation, Europeans were dark-skinned.

Black goddess, your skin the fertile soil,
Your hair the verdant trees and grasses,
Your breasts the decorated hills;
You are the queen of the secret worlds,
She who devours her children.

Black goddess, your mystery is death and birth.
You speak to us in dream and song;
You sing to us in poetry.

Morrigan, I will anoint your image with sacred oils
And burn offerings of juniper and mugwort at your shrines.
Morrigan, I will embody the sweet, ferocious earth
And rise to the defense of its lands and its people.
Morrigan, I will listen for your many names
And sing your countless songs.

Bless us your earnest people, O Raven;
Grant courage to the cowardly
And humility to the brave.
Allow us to walk beside you in clarity and love.
In the depths of chaos, help us find peace.

Image credit Laura Cameron

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