Pagan Poetry – “Other Eyes.”

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Image – Nadia Maria Photography

“Other eyes.”

What does it mean to be starry eyed?
To have cosmic dust deep in your eyes
To peek beyond with void in veil

What does it mean to have Other eyes?
When the universe speaks energy never lies
To watch something darkly beautiful

What does it mean to see all is dust?
To know what is broken and all turns to rust
To see glimpses of eternity in inevitability

What does it mean to live as a seer
Are the chains just as broken, the cost to be freer
To be the observer and to live in the weaving

Is seeing believing
Is believing seeing?

-Joey Morris 2017 all rights reserved

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The Storyteller – A Spiritual Archetype for the Soul

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Image- Odysseyonline

“Every Story that has ever been told or will be, exists timelessly within the void. This is the temple of the Storyteller.”
– Joanne Morris 2017

Within the heart and soul of every human being is a story, the retelling of our lives; past, present and future – both the stories we have woven from our choices and actions, and those yet untold and unforeseen.

To some, we are the weavers of our own fates, to others, our destinies exist independently of our control, instead they are paths to be discovered, travelled, and experienced.
Wherever our personal perspective concerning fate lies, we certainly are own storytellers.
We retell our tales in dulcet tones, emphasizing the magick of our adventures, reiterating our lessons, and painting over the ‘uglier parts’ of life to make for a more palatable remembering.

The archetype of the Storyteller reaches out to something hardwired within our human natures; it is timeless, evolving, ageless, and arguably vital to the survival of our spiritual selves.

The modern age suffers from a lack of personal storytelling.
Stories suffer from technological advancement even as it benefits from the deluge of availability of information; we can watch stories brought to life as images on a screen, access thousands of books at the click of a button, and hear the words from voices all over the world easier than ever before; and yet, the tactile experiencing of stories has suffered from over-saturation of media as well as story sterilisation.

The stories we do hear through media are ultimately controlled by people with a vested interest in selling them; news outlets drive home sensationalised stories of terror and violence, and modern storytelling often hinges on similar titillation to capture the attention of an increasingly disengaged audience.

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Image from Behance

Hearing elders speak around a fire, capturing the tales of their ancestors, reliving histories and lessons, is an almost extinct artform; marginalized in modern times to be expected only in certain native communities.
The passing down of ethical and moral tale is now associated with supposedly less advance communities; leaving people free to buy into a culture of self, disingenuous, self-serving dialogue that encourages exaltation of only the self, even as it harms the spiritual ecosystem through which we are all connected.

Similarly, Libraries and physical books find their role as knowledge keepers supplanted.
This experiencing of stories, if not sought out and treasured, will be lost for all time.
To be deprived of such valuable conduits of human experience, portents of imagination and creativity is a travesty that spiritual weavers of this world should rally against.
To find wonderment in tales that touched our soul, fed our spirit, and expanded our mind is a true gift.
Such experiences breed empathy and understanding; as we connect to stories about others outside of the self, we in turn become more in touch with our humanity.

“Stories are the most important thing in the world. Without stories we wouldn’t be human beings at all.”
– Philip Pullman

Often magickal practitioners acknowledge the power our words – that’s why we call it spelling! – but neglect to bridge that line of thinking to the next step; the realisation that our stories are also spellcrafting.
The spiritual call is often fuelled by one simple question that leads us to a lifetime of seeking higher truth; Who am I?

Are we the sum of our experiences?
But then the human mind filters and forgets much of our memories, and it is a well-documented psychological perspective that suggests our memory typically acts like a storyteller; embellishing certain elements of what we remember and diminishing others.

Are we then the story we tell ourselves?
There is always the potential for self absorption and even self deception within spirituality, which shows the dangerous side of the storyteller.
To lose sight of objectivity and personal truth, focusing solely on the inflation of the egotistical retelling to perpetuate our own myth is to poison our narrative into self service.
Instead, as storytellers, we need to learn to see our stories, weave them if we must into clearer, beautiful narratives, and yet remain empathetic to the plights of others.

This is the art of forming emotional connection to and respect for the subject matter and all characters involved within that storytelling. It reminds us that we are not separate from our fellow human beings, no matter the perceived divide.

And in a world in turmoil, we need to remember that now, more than ever.

Many blessings, Starlets

Joey Morris

All my own work and design all rights reserved

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Image -fairytalemood

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I dream in Death Screams… Echoes of Death Goddess Badb

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“…I hear her scream
Guttering
The pitch black chord of night
I am her
and She is me…”
– Joey Morris Woad Warrior

Never in human history has the screaming been so silent.

The sanitization of modern society impresses on the individual the need for silence to such a degree that the verbal act of screaming is relegated to films concerning horror.
The Horror genre is generally considered to be a psychological pressure valve for social and cultural concerns within the human psyche;

“Horror movies have always been a way of addressing our most unspeakable fears and desires. Sometimes these are smuggled past our defences disguised as zombies or werewolves – not to slip one over on the censors (though there was that, too, back in the day) but because it’s a way for us to absorb notions about death, decay and the human condition…” – Anne Billson Crash and Squirm

Within Pagan spiritual pathwalking, silence also encumbers the spiritual dialogue, based on the premise of self preservation in a dangerous world; for witches can still be segregated at best or put to death at worst depending on their physical location.

Though understandable in times of survival, the chains of silence permeate society in all sorts of insidious ways, until the very concept is associated with strength; even memes proclaim ‘A strong woman is one who is able to smile this morning like she was not crying last night.`

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Screaming is primal, ancient, and powerful.
The voice can be the seat of our magickal power; expression is the catalyst by which ideas ignite and spread through the minds of others like wildfire.

Human beings knew once the intrinsic value of screaming; that it represented far more than simply an outer expression of inner fear but could be harnessed in time of war to cause fear in the enemy, to rouse allies to combat or to warn of impending death as in the case of the Banshee in folklore.

The Goddess Badb is oft identified in Celtic mythology initially by her voice;

Ro erig em badb discir, dian, demnetach, dasachtach, dúr, duabsech, detcengtach, cruaid, croda, cosaitech, co bai ic screchád ar luamain, os a cennaib. Ro eirgetar am bananaig, ocus boccanaig, ocus geliti glinni, ocus amati adgaill, ocus siabra, ocus seneoin, ocus damna admilti aeoir ocus firmaminti, ocus siabarsluag debil demnach, co mbatar a comgresacht ocus i commorad aig ocus irgaili leo.”

“There arose a wild, impetuous, precitpitate, mad, inexorable, furious, dark, lacerating, merciless, combative, contentious badb, which was shrieking and fluttering over their heads. And there arose also the satyrs, and sprites, and the maniacs of the valleys, and the witches, and goblins, and owls, and destroying demons of the air and firmament, and the demoniac phantom host; and they were inciting and sustaining valour and battle with them.”—“Cogadh Gaedhel re Gallaibh,” Todd’s ed., p. 174

Whether it be in horror, folklore or historical accounts of battle, screaming is inextricably linked with the process of death; and perhaps the notion of fear and screaming is a pale ghost of this; as death is something that is greatly feared throughout history.

Death and screaming have both been sanitized, removed from sight and pushed into silent corners, as though encouraging people to speak about them only in hushed whispers takes away from their primal nature.

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What is really happening is the devaluing of the voice, and the power of the Death Scream, which is ours to reclaim; I had spoken before about discovering the nature of the Death Scream and have come to realise that such primal power would surge from the subconscious mind whenever it was required to repeal and defeat any form of spiritual attack.

The Death Scream has also been implemented personally to draw attention when the situation felt dire; and the reality of the Death Scream was that it was almost silent in its verbalisation – it was the pure embodiment of pain released through a screaming motion, the essence of what a scream became when the words within had ran out.

Strength and hiding ones emotional state are not the same; just as embracing Death Goddess energies can be the utter rejection of silence when one feels the desperate urge to scream.
The act in of itself is a liberation; a personal confession of the heart and soul to the endurance of the self… it acknowledges ones pain, and the survival of the many deaths one encounters along the road of life.

There is a time for silence. But not at the expense of the inner primal self that screeches, wails and screams.

Many blessings Starlets,

Joey

 

– Joey Morris 2017 All rights reserved

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Shadow Masks in Spirituality and Witchcraft

Obscurity - Natalia Drepina

Image – Obscurity – Natalia Drepina

Witches wear many masks.

There are those masks we wear to elevate ourselves through our magick; placing void fabric against our bare skin in order to peer into the in-between spaces, seeking to understand the lessons of our ‘Other eyes.’

Then there are the masks we wear built from our own shadows; carved from our fear, jealousy, and resentment.
Adorned in our weakness, we project outwardly from a place of spiritual insufficiency; projecting falsehood out into the world so as to detract from our own inadequacy, to hide our unworthy machinations that are often fuelled by a drive of coveting and envy, hostility to others, or even a place of shame.

With masks being concealment by nature, we can cleverly disguise our motivations as self-righteous reasoning, or even care or concern about others, but ultimately the root is corrupted; we are drawing venom up through our veins, poisoning ourselves.
Instead we should be cutting ourselves open in order to examine and better understand our wounding.

Slipping into a shadow mask is one of the simplest forms of self-deception.

To know ourselves is to resonate from a place of personal power; to ignore and justify our seemingly less desirable qualities or reactions, blaming others for our own shadows, is to make ourselves lesser.

This is highlighted where so ever there is personal disagreement; when one person solely blames another without acknowledging any self-responsibility; that is wearing a shadow.
When someone attacks another from a place of jealousy, that is wearing a shadow.
When someone competes with another to boost their self-esteem rather than pushing themselves from a place of elevation, that is wearing a shadow.

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Image – Natalia Dreprina

Emotional responses to situations and even people are never solely negative however; in fact they are all opportunities for spiritual advancement; if we acknowledge these impulses then we see our wounds; it highlights where we are lacking, and to know this means we can address it and begin a process of healing and making ourselves stronger.

We have to utterly destroy the concept of “I deserve” in regard to spiritual exercise and indeed within life.
There is no “deserve.”
There is hard work, passion, and determination, and even then, sometimes we are denied whatsoever it is we think we want.
These so-called failures are often lessons of self and opening doors to future success.

“You either get bitter or you get better. It’s that simple. You either take what has been dealt to you and allow it to make you a better person, or you allow it to tear you down. The choice does not belong to fate, it belongs to you..” – Josh Shipp

The problem with the human ego is that failed opportunity is often taken as a personal attack, rather than a lesson that needs to be learnt. The shadow mask makes us groan with embarrassment or shame, and encourages us to lash out at those who we perceive as being more advanced or successful than ourselves.

Failed opportunity tends to have a synchronistic element to it; if life tears us down it is because we require that death cycle.

Many cannot fully overcome the mourning process of this death within life, and choose to fixate on the loss, living in the poison that can come from their infected wounding.
The resentment that can breed from such loss is a driving force behind those wearing their shadow.

This analysis however is not to excuse the behaviour of those lashing out from a place of wounding; empathy and understanding are not the same thing, and whilst we can recognise the motivations of others, we do not have to accept behaviour which violates our personal boundaries.

Ultimately, we can only take full responsibility for our own person, our thoughts, emotions and behaviours.
The premise that power over the self is the complete control over reaction and emotion though, should be utterly rejected.
Emotional states do not exist solely to be controlled or repressed.

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tribally-infused.tumblr.com – image

Instead it is better to be mindful – when strong emotional responses burst forth (whatever these emotions might be) there is a reason for that to be so.

The choice on when to speak out and when to remain silent is a skill that has to be learned; not every vicious barb or challenge to your sense of self merits the opening of your emotional self.
Sometimes when confronted by a shadow mask of another, resilience and silence are the most powerful methods of response.
On the occasion that a situation threatens your emotional, mental, physical, or spiritual well-being however, then drawing a line in the sand is necessary.

Mindfulness is also a key to understanding our own shadow masks; when we react to harm another individual because they are (usually unwittingly) poking our shadow; their words or actions reminds us on some level of an unhealed part of ourselves.
They show us the way, whether we like it or not.

Many blessings Starlets,

Joey Morris

All my own work and design all rights reserved

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Lessons Of Oracle – Nourishment of Nettles

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★★★ Oracle for Starlets ★★★

★ Plant Ally Cards by Lisa Mcloughlin Art

★ Nettle – Nourishment ★

“Find the nourishment after pain; the pearl in the oyster. Seek out environments that help to clear your thinking so that you can respond to unhealthy internal/external situations in a positive way.” – Lisa Mcloughlin 

“Nettle it is called, it attacks against poison,
it drives out the hostile one, it casts out poison.
This is the herb that fought against the serpent,
it has power against poison, it has power against infection,
it has power against the loathsome foe roving through the land.” -The Lanunga 10th Century Anglo-Saxon charm (One of nine.)

With a similar outlook to Dandelion; Nettle is a plant which is often ignored as a weed or a nuisance when in fact it is a plant with incredible healing powers and alternative uses; it can be made into revitalizing tonics, herbal tea for a wide range of healing effects, braided into twine, is also a reputed hemostatic (limits bloodflow) in poultices, made into soups and salads… and all of this before any metaphysical qualities are examined.

Nettle can nourish every part of the body and soul but in modern times its magick, much like Dandelions, is ignored and written off as a weed that stings.
Perception is skewed as mankind drifts away from the voices of nature; the plant devas calls often fall on deaf ears; it is the course of the herbalist, the spiritualist, the witch to remind the world that magick exists, that the lessons plants have to tell us (or remind us) are of paramount importance.

Nettle is a plant that stings if you are not careful, but treated well, carefully harvested with respect and honour, it becomes a stout ally, blending magick and medicine into one seamless energy. Helpful, dependable and courageous; Nettle will not allow itself to be mistreated. Grab it ruthlessly by the hand and you will find yourself stung.

It is a lesson on grace and understanding; to look for the internal problems of “grabby hands”; we should not always be taking but seeking to maintain a balance, a relationship. The Earth is not a resource to be used or drained; She is alive, to be nutured, cared for, cultivated, harvested and honoured.
Human beings should be the caretakers of this great garden; not its destroyers.

The same is true for the garden of your heart, mind and soul. You must cultivate it, prune the hedgerows, plant the flowers.
When mud is slung at you; plant flowers in it.
Feed your garden with all those energies it takes to help you blossom; and blossom you will.
Tears are the rain that dampens, laughter is the light that helps it grow – all these things are necessary; and more, you must take care of yourself. Do not let poisonous vines take hold of your life, cut them down and cleanse the soil. Plant the healers. Honour those within your life who honour you.

On the surface, Nettle is not a showy plant. It doesn’t have extreme colour variation or a blossom scent and people dismiss it as prickly. Their shallowness betrays them for Nettle has more than they can see; such depth, such promise, such magick to weave… a plant for the soul.

Many blessings Starlets,
Joey

Small art print – Terri Foss

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Starry Lessons of Oracle – Self Mastery

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★★★ Starry Oracle ★★★

★Self mastery★
★Deck – Plant Ally Cards by Lisa McLoughlin

“Rosebay Willowherb (Fireweed)- Self Mastery
You are the Phoenix rising from the ashes! Feel encouraged to renew your confidence in self mastery. What do you desire to do?”

“Fireweed removes anger and transmutes karma. It is the remedy of restoration. When life destroys us, Fireweed flower essence helps us to successfully start over. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes of the fire, it helps you to connect to your Higher Self and encourage spiritual breakthroughs. With this comes renewed passion, discovering what your purpose in life is. What you are doing has importance and needs to be done.” – Herbalriot

The Plant Ally cards are always on point with synchronicities as the phoenix imagery applies two-fold in my private life and knowing that it will call out to others as well.

Since grave physical illness shook me and asked me to just pause for a minute and watch; see, feel and learn there has been another phrase which resonated, bouncing off the walls with gusto; Remember.

Remember who you were before the world told you that you were *not*… enough. Remember that you’re entitled to your opinion, your way of doing things, your mistakes… the same as everyone else is. Listen to the calling of your inner voice, and sing with it.
When I called out to Goddess Morrigan for advice she replied; “When did you stop singing?”

The act of singing goes far beyond belting out a tune or humming in reverence as a sacred act of worship (though these are both important chords to hit,) but hearing your inner voice; the one that gets squashed by logic and self loathing, that gets belittled and berated by the harsh cruelties of outside influences until we feel ourselves spinning into a realm of silence just for a quieter life…

But spiritual souls were never meant to be silenced.

The loudest voice is not the most powerful, the truth shines through in any given situation, for those willing to hear it. Our own inner truth (which evolves along with us) can guide us to our path and along it, if we remember to trust ourselves.

Too much of the world is in chaos right now as it seeks to shout over those questioning and learning, too much scoffing and finger-pointing rather than supporting others processes.

The journey of the Phoenix is not an easy path, and as we approach Samhain, Death is at the forefront of our thoughts. A part of us seeks rebirth through the death of that which is decayed, rotten and only sabotages the self. Bad habits, negative processes and enforced silenced need to be dropped into the cauldron and burnt to ashes.

Then comes the next step to self-mastery; asking not only who you are (and are becoming) but who you want to be and what you want to achieve?

Our dreams are at the crux of our soul voice, so sing Starlet.

Many blessings

Joey

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Oracle for Starlets – Queen of Books

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★★★ Oracle for Starlets ★★★

★ Cards of Chaos – Queen of Books ★

The beautiful cards of Chaos come without any definitive meanings, allowing for personal interpretation of them to rule your thought process… anything goes as long as it aligns with your higher truth!

How apt is it that the Queen of Books showed up this week for the Oracle reading; She who rules over the written and recorded word; covering her torso in words as well as her face in randomized alphabetical letters.
Not only does she outwardly project the image of a scholar but she wears the very words on her skin. It reminds me of the question; “If the words you spoke appeared on your skin, would you still be beautiful?”

The power of the spoken and written word gets this Virgo Witch twitching (or perhaps, tweeting… *modern linguistic pun*) with excitement because of the incredible importance of words in witchcraft.

The words we speak are literally magick. Dreams and hopes given physical form through our intention of thought and the vibration of our voice (or hands.)
The way our body alters and changes to shape our expressions; thoughts given flight into the realm of the physical world that echoes in the astral.

Words are powerful.

There is a tendency in modern times to ridicule the polite or the kind as though it is weakness or unsubstantial shallowness; the flinging of words sharp and harsh designed to wound and harm classified as somehow more “real.”
Knowing that a few kind words could change someones mood – heck someones day or even life should be enough to make us measure our words, spoken or written.

Sometimes words are used to tantalise, shock, cause a reaction in others, drag others emotions kicking and screaming whether they acquiesce or not; and the reaction can be a powerful thing. People use this energetic exchange in all manner of ways; the power of the pen seeking change and reform in public social realms is well documented throughout history; why else were books and printing presses regulated and destroyed?

The written word can still be manipulated and controlled by those publishing them but in modern times the power of the free word is known; messages can be extended all over the world more readily and easily than ever before.
Both a blessing and a curse; it all depends on how the words are used; for love and solidarity, or for hate and judgement.

Words evolve, change, fall out of fashion and some are discarded for all time; a written history of speech, examining the past through etymology and an examination of cultural and social values can all hinge on words.

To some witches, the term “book witch” is thrown as insult to the educated and well read, arguing a lack of practice in magical pursuit; and whilst practice is absolutely necessary for a journey of craft; we should count our lucky stars that we live in a world where such books are convenient and available.

Books are thought, heart, memory in bound form. They radiate ideas, knowledge, questions and even wisdom; they can take us on a journey far from ourselves and bring us right back to our living rooms changed and a little better than before.

Take the time and reach out a few words in kindness each day, and see the change it makes not only in others, but in you.

And one day, you might just find that your very words have saved a life.

Many blessings Starlets,

Joey

All my own work and design all rights reserved

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Pagan Poetry – Woad Warrior

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I am Her
And She is me
The guardian in woad
A story screams
Across the void
Marked in battle lines
I hear her scream
Guttering
The pitch black chord of night
I am her
and She is me
There is no true divide
I cross the ocean bruised
And weary
To speak at fire side
The lightning calls
As once it did
The drums of war unfold
I am Her
And She is me
The warrior in woad

– Joanne Morris 2017 all rights reserved

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“The bloody birth of a Wild Witch.”

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“The bloody birth of a Wild Witch.”

“Wild. Ancient. Carefree.
Who were we as witches before we learnt
What the world told us to be?” – Joey Morris

In passing, it can seem as though the reclamation of ones inner wild self is as simple as a moment of glorious realization, following which the shackles which once chained us to personal limitation, degradation, and loss of self, release, and we are free from those controlling elements that have so tortured our spiritual journey.
Perhaps there is even fireworks and a fanfare of trumpets sounding to announce to the world that we have reached the pinnacle of inner freedom.

The reality of personal reclamation was far more brutal.
Having already touched on the uncomfortable nature of birthing pains, with the figurative snapping of bones and the psychological necessity to drown away the parts of self that refused to shapeshift and grow; the stage was set for the experience of rebirthing.

It hurt.
It still hurts.
It required sacrifice; the ending of an entire kind of life, and more than that, it had to be the intentional tearing of that life from the self.
Bloodied, bruised, and broken, crawling up the stone steps to the dais, crying, screaming and burning inwardly, in order to throw myself on the altar.
Willing.
Able.
Ready to die, death screaming out into the night; a willing participant in the murder of self; entailing the tearing away the encasing exoskeleton which had grown like a hardened shell of fear around my soul.

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art – Natalia Deprina

My heart carried the heaviness of the void as I turned inward, and confronted that emotion, forcing myself deep into the inner self, examining the wound within, talking peaceably to my shadow self.
I knew my rising fears were vulnerability about loving completely and freely, knowing that the risk involved in rewilding myself was immense…

That risk manifests as the inkling of fear that scratches at the back of the mind; the inhaling of hesitation that seeks to straddle the wild soul and subdue it.
This time though, the yearning of the soul was too ferocious to be intimidated by fear.
The call would not, could not, be denied.
My bones had cracked and splintered, revealing soul bones and the resulting emotional reaction struck deeper than ever could have been predicted.

This inward process was also violent, with shaking spells and tears, it required a part of me to break open and then heal. The connection to healing this particular wound required something precious, a part of myself that had remained hidden and reluctant since surviving abuse.

Trusting completely in this heart process.

A broken heart that has never truly healed, fears the unification process that leads back to the wild rebirthing. To trust is a risky exercise to the fearful, knowing the result of a hundred failed attempts before this.

Yet I had seen the universe move in a thousand synchronicities that accumulated to the most tangible form of magick I have yet borne witness to.
Confirmation from the realm of spirit was almost constantly physically manifesting, affirmation after affirmation until there could be no doubt; the universe was hammering the door down, speaking in every voice it had in its crescendo; calling, screaming, whispering, screeching, that this; this was the time.

“The cost of a life worth everything is the death of anything that went before.
The universe said ‘fucking leap, woman.’
My heart and soul said ‘fucking leap, woman.’
So I leapt.” – Joey Morris

Resistance comes from all that you used to be; the past you and from all the bonds that tied you there, that kept you from being your wildest, truest self.
Parts of you (and others) resist.
It is akin to clinging on so tightly we injure ourselves; we grasp the bars of our own decrepit cages even though the rotten bars tear our skin, wounding us with learned precision, striking fear into our hearts, beating our spirit down, trying to keep us small.

These rusty nails must be pulled from our backs, the infected wounds burnt through, cleansed, until the poison of our past drains.
There is relief momentarily as breath fills our spirit lungs for the first time in an age.
Then there is pain.
Our spirit lungs are battered and bruised from the constriction they have endured, and the inhalation of freedom tears at the tenderness that awaits there.
Then hesitation slips in.
The self-doubt within accuses us of being an imposter. We shake to our core, wondering if we have sunk our teeth into something that is too expansive, too real, too raw…

Perhaps we have, but the wild witch is all fangs and claws, and remembering the taste of blood in the mouth releases that primal howling from deep within.
We begin to shed our skin peels back, our fangs elongate, our eyes widen as we see the world anew.

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Such a path is dangerous.
But so are we.

This is the birth of a wild witch who sees with their ‘other eyes’ and treads the path of edges, sharp and unusual, but filled with adventure, magick of the void and the
in-between spaces.
It is bloody.
It breaks us apart.
It forces us to elevate.

But it is the purest, rawest, most unconditional truth of self that can ever be found.

So leap, and rise to every challenge; meet it headlong in your wildness.
No one can stop you.
Tear apart who you have been forced to be.
Live free. Live Wild. Live.

 Stay Fluxy Starlets,

Joey

All my own work and design all rights reserved

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Deep in my Soul Bones – Witchcraft of the Void

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Art- Valdris Bagdonis

It is often said that on the other side of Fear is everything you could ever want.
As a Witch, I struggled with the shadow of my fear, afraid to move away from the comfortable box which I had sheltered myself within.

For so long, I had survived.
It was all I knew how to do, and though I felt a piece of myself was always missing, always longing to truly live rather than struggle through, I could not seem to fathom how to get to that place.

I hid away in the material, telling myself it was enough, and took pains to begin shaping a half life within a spiritual vortex, yearning for one that had deeper meaning, and though much of  what I discovered in my spiritual travels did touch my soul and deliver lessons, the foundations were still chaining me instead of allowing me to stretch my Fox limbs and shift around the night time forest floor.

Change always seemed to have a cost; it was painful, it came whether I wanted it to or not, and in fairness it was usually very unwelcome.
The path of the Morrigan can be one of trial, where change feels like the slashing of a sharp blade in bloody combat.
Each time I raised my shield, my arms shuddered from the contact of the blade burying itself into my metal as I girded myself, dug my heels in, and refused to move.

The lesson was not there.

The lesson was in the surrender, in the dropping of the shield in order to trust; to allow the blade to pierce your skin, in doing so it pierces the void, and life force comes flowing from the wound. Change is cut into my skin, and for the first time in my life I understand what the Morrigan meant when she told me in meditation that;

“If you would not give your very last drop of blood for this course, then you do not desire or deserve it.”

For the first time in a long time, one Taurus New Moon, I truly emotionally broke down. It was too much, I was beginning to wonder if I would ever connect. Would I ever feel truth and love flowing through my veins? Or was this half life all I could achieve?

A part of me screamed out into the void that night, I know that now, screeching the War Cry of Badb that signified readiness, and a part of me died and was gone, as the synchronicities began in droves.
I awoke from the dreams that birthed this change in body wracked sobs; whatever this feeling was, where ever it led, I wanted to follow it, even if I was terrified.

In the moments that followed I simply accepted it was real, and channeled my fire as I had been instructed; “be the torch that guides destiny home”… was the message that I had received. So I surrendered again, and change, change was so close, and so fast, so ready to respond to this summoning from my heart and soul that I was mesmerized by the universal ballet that seemed to simply align.

The universe moved.
I had never seen anything like it, and initially struggled with the usual suspects of fear; self doubt and wondering, did I deserve this?
I can’t tell you I deserve it, but I can be deserving of it. I can honour the process, and feel the fear, but sit with it, reach out and hold its hand, and walk together into the future.

“Until today
I did not realise
That my soul too has bones
And that ache goes deeper
Than any tide before it
How can anything else ever compare
Once you realise you have soul bones
And the electric current that feeds them
Is love.”
– Joey Morris 2017

Many Blessings and Fluxy beginnings, Starlet

Joey Morris

2017 All my own work and design all rights reserved
Copyright in place theft will not be tolerated

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