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A Witches Tale of Rose Petals and Ocean Waves

A Witches Tale of Rose Petals and Ocean Waves

“Perhaps it is time to go to the sea
For there always was too much of the dreamer in me
With a heart of sand that was slipping away
As I headed deep out into the bay
And I stay…”
– Joey Morris “Wanderer”

Today I stood on the shores of this land I moved to, feet cramping in pain waiting the ocean waves to cover them, standing on the runic symbol Othala that I etched into the sand, holding a fistful of rose petals.

Othala as a rune is often misconstrued; given meanings of hatred and bias, when it speaks to heritage and ancestry; and on a personal level, being connected to the palms of thousands upon thousands of ancestors that cannot be seen except with Other eyes, but more so felt, with the heart.

Most of the rose petals were meant for the gravestones as part of a ritual at Beltane; but the disjointed year bled into a disjointed day – as all the best laid plans came shattering down like glass from above.

As I passed into the shore, I had seen a fake white rose bouquet discarded on the sand, and I held onto my blood red petals, aching, full of sadness, but alive.
There were crows at the entranceways, and a hawk amongst the seagulls, as I let everything that had been hurting flood into my hands and feet, and when ready, I opened my hands, and let the rose petals dance on the wind, and be carried out to sea, my bare feet covered in sea water.

Spirituality is many things, to many people. The reasons to engage in a spiritual life are as vast and deep as the ocean itself; there is not but one course to steer our ships but many; it weaves alongside us as we grow through life, when we fall, when we cry and scream and laugh… it is alive, and a part of us.

This year had felt energetically tilted and misaligned from the beginning, and Beltane seemed to lack that usual sizzle, as winter clung still to the western world and a general coldness seemed to follow with it. Moon energy in Scorpio and Saturn in retrograde had deepened the sense of churning waves, of our inner boats battling the waves and taking on water.

Standing, staring out into the fathomless, unexplored, I allowed every one of those feelings to surface, in a ritual of mourning, not so much of death, but mourning the idealism that sometimes leads witches to ache with heavy hearts.
We are taught at every turn to visualise our world, to create it, to invest every part of our energy into that vision of reality and then to manifest that desire.

But life is tricksy, and no adventure can ever be exactly as we planned it; that would suck the life out of the magick of experience.

So we are faced with an interesting trial; what happens when life falls short of our perfect plans? How do we reconcile ourselves with the dream versus the reality, and did we somehow fail in our manifestation if it does not align with our original intentions?

It can lead to a heavy heart sometimes, knowing that life will always be bittersweet, it is just the nature of the beast, and in that battling between victorious moments of glorious success and the sour disappointments of failure, we become more and more ourselves; complex, multi-faceted and stronger.
Wisdom comes like salt in the ocean, settling into the cracks, exposing the raw points that sting but cleansing them out regardless, leading us to a place of healing.

“The Ocean is timeless.
Ageless.
It has seen the world bend and shape and burn.
It knows Life as the font of all creation.
It knows Death as all returns to its embrace.
The Ocean is eternity woven into primal elegance,
swelling with the emotional ties of all those who yearn for its medicine.”

– Joey Morris
written for What the Flux podcast with Cris Ashburn

The fake white bouquet was an interesting touch by the universe and its symbolism was rich; added to by the fact that my white panda pumps had ripped as I walked onto the beach, and for whatever reason, I felt the hand of the Nordic God Odin at work.
It spoke of abandoning pretence; that a bouquet of fake flowers was never going to be enough for a Witch who speaks to plant spirits; knowing that roses too can dream.
White is originally a colour of death that has evolved into a sanitized version of meaning, purity, a state without blemish, a state of unrealistic thought which is untouched by the world.

We cannot place a foot onto our paths and not connect with the dirt, the earth, the sharp rocks and warm sand, and nor can we walk without leaving a footprint. Everything is interconnected, everything interlinks with consequence.

“We cannot continue to walk on broken dreams, built on false hopes.”
– Odin in meditation

Odin has walked through my life a handful of times, stepping in usually in matters of ancestry and past life, and I smiled to myself as my timeline revealed that it was the three-year anniversary of his first incurrence into my life, which visualised as a sit-down negotiation with Morrigan and a bewildered witch wondering what I was signing up for.

Warrior Gods with poetic license are perhaps a dynamic I understand and even embody better than any other, and with them influencing my course, life became vivid in the story it would paint; and whilst I have never been half measures, being fully invested or not at all in every aspect of my being, now life echoed the heart beat within my chest.

The ocean is a reminder of the frailty of mankind; we do not fully know it, nor understand it, and as such, it is beyond our control.
When confronted by feelings of ineffectuality I find it helps to remember, in somewhat nihilistic fashion, that if the Earth was snuffed from existence tonight, the Universe would not even blink.

Humanity is but a punctuation mark in the fabric of existence, and so in a way, everything we seek to accomplish is largely meaningless outside of the scope of meaning that we, ourselves, give to our lives, our actions, and our magick.
There is something liberating in the conceptualisation of meaning; we define our reality; we are the living, breathing, sentient emotional centres of universe, given form and skin. As we feel, and create, and manifest, we express both ourselves, and parts of the great spiritual ecosystem into which we are connected.
We paint the worlds around us.
We create.

And so, as the world churns again, and we create and react to the creation of this path we are embodying, it should be no surprise that it is as brilliant and as flawed as we, ourselves, are.

And the roses, little symbols of pieces of heart, flutter back to the timeless swell of the ocean; a place that birthed life and can take life just as easily.
And as a Witch I find myself, again, and again, returning.
We all return to the Sea.

Many blessings,

Joey Morris

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My name is Joey, and I am a Celtic Creatrix and UK based daughter of The Morrigan. I work very closely with tree magick and spend much of my time communing and foraging within the spiritual ecosystem. This connection allows me to practise voice witchery and conduit for the Otherworld. “Wild. Ancient. Carefree. Who were we as witches before we learnt what the world told us to be?” – Joey Morris To become a tempered blade of The Morrigan, one must be baptized in blood and fire. These struggles within my lifetime have led me to become a voice for the voiceless, to reach out to the broken, and to poke the shadows in others so that they might begin to heal. “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 unsual, but filled with adventure, magick of the liminal and the in-between spaces.” – Joey Morris Within the spiritual landscape my soul mission is to deepen the understanding of our interconnectedness by both honouring the sacred and exploring the masks of the self through channeling relationships to the Divine through written work, poetry, videos, products and services.
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My name is Joey, and I am a Celtic Creatrix and UK based daughter of The Morrigan. I work very closely with tree magick and spend much of my time communing and foraging within the spiritual ecosystem. This connection allows me to practise voice witchery and conduit for the Otherworld. “Wild. Ancient. Carefree. Who were we as witches before we learnt what the world told us to be?” – Joey Morris To become a tempered blade of The Morrigan, one must be baptized in blood and fire. These struggles within my lifetime have led me to become a voice for the voiceless, to reach out to the broken, and to poke the shadows in others so that they might begin to heal. “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 unsual, but filled with adventure, magick of the liminal and the in-between spaces.” – Joey Morris Within the spiritual landscape my soul mission is to deepen the understanding of our interconnectedness by both honouring the sacred and exploring the masks of the self through channeling relationships to the Divine through written work, poetry, videos, products and services.
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