This is the second dark moon since I was recalled to service, and one of many that I have served the role of messenger for Na Morrigna, messenger mainly to those whose practice is most similar and location is most proximal to my own, but perhaps the message will find resonance farther afield as well. I write because I am told to, and this small platform is as good as any – my community knows where to find me.
This time, as many others, I journeyed to my usual meeting place with Na Morrigna, the three Daughters of Ernmas. They met me there, and a fire was already lit beneath the great cauldron, though it was not full. I poured water to fill it from my own jug, and they added herbs, stirred it together until it was steaming, and then bade me look.
I saw violence, turmoil. barely contained. The water and herbs in the cauldron seethed and roiled though the surface was calm. Likewise, violence boils beneath the surface of our society. Things are tensed, straining, and something will have to give, for the pressure will not let up, cannot let up – it has gone to far, and we are past the point of turning back, past the point where we might have been able to settle it back down. We cannot stop the rising flood, though there are better and worse ways of dealing with the flood as it spills over. As a society we’ve laid poor foundations, and we have not restructured them properly or even maintained past partial fixes, and we’ll find ourselves facing disaster. A harvest of disasters, grown from poisoned seeds in unmaintained fields. I look again, deeper, and it gets clearer. I see riots, I see burning, I hear gunfire, screams, I smell smoke. It looks to my untrained eyes like war.
They tell me to say: “Do not look to the King for justice. His Ways are not Just. But those among you who are warriors, guard your communities during the turmoil. Healers, heal. Others, look to your crafts. What power will you wield in the battle to come? Not hard to say.”
Note: those last two sentences in the quoted section come from the Cath Maige Tuired, somewhat paraphrased, from when Lugh is asking each person what they will do in the battle.