Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" If you think the mega-churches are the only growing religious movement in America today, think again! More people are finding their way back to that Old Time Religion.
We're not talking tent revivals here. It's all about . . .
Oh my. The biggest, blackest crow I've ever seen just landed on my windowsill! Now it's pecking through the screen!
Hey, you! Scram! Do I look like Tippi Hedrin? Yikes! Stop that! It's tantamount to staining the furniture!
Whoa. The crow has landed. And morphed into Morrigan, ancient Celtic warrior goddess of Ireland.
See what I mean about the bored gods? They find out you'll give them a stump, they come in droves. Please give a warm "The Gods Are Bored" welcome to Morrigan, the Shape-Shifting Warrior Goddess!"
Morrigan: Thank you.
Anne: Um... Be careful with that spear, okay? We try to be nonviolent here at "The Gods Are Bored."
Morrigan: Alas, it's purely ornamental these days. Sometimes I stir my soup with it, if I'm making a large batch.
Anne: Whoa. Nice tattoos. That Green Man on your ... emmmm ... is quite striking. Did it hurt?
Morrigan: Hurt? Pish tosh! I blinked and it was there.
Anne: I think I know your story. You and your sisters were awesome fighting deities who, among other things, kept Ireland safe from the Romans. And isn't there a statue somewhere in Ireland of Cuchulainn lying dead with you on his shoulder? As a crow, of course.
Morrigan: How would you like to be reduced to a statue? Or worse, one of the most despicable villainesses since the Trojan War?
Anne: Oh! Now you're talking about the King Arthur saga. Morgana le Fay. Gosh, even the inimitable Brian Froud presents you in a bad light. You are roundly considered a black, evil witch.
Morrigan: See? No gray area anywhere. I bust my chops keeping my praise and worship team safe, and what do I have to show for it? Bad press. And guess who's responsible for all that bad press?
Anne: Ummmm. Dunno.
Morrigan: Come on, Anne. Look at the date!
Anne: It's St. Patrick's Day.
Anne: So St. Patrick gave you the old heave-ho, when even the Romans couldn't budge your team?
Morrigan: Absolutely correct. St. Patrick used a different bag of tricks. Defeat by stealth. If he'd faced me in a one-on-one . . .
Anne: At the risk of being mistaken for soup, I'd like to point out that perhaps your violent tendencies contributed to your current plight.
Morrigan: Well, thank you very much, Miss Priss! Your mama. Show me what you got.
Anne: Yikes! Ahhh, hmmm. I've got a cordless telephone, a couple of highlight pens, two books about the Scopes "Monkey Trial," and Heathen Days, by H. L. Mencken. Oh, and here on the floor is a dog-eared copy of Huckleberry Finn. And for my coup de grace, out there in the pasture is John Henry, my favorite ram.
Morrigan: I spit on your ram. But I would like to borrow that huckleberry book.
Anne: Keep it. Now settle down, air your grievance, and fly on. I don't want you scaring away any buzzards.
Morrigan: St. Patrick's Day is time to remember that with the ascension of any major religion, many smaller, localized religions become obsolete, extinct, or so twisted by secret re-tellings that they take on the trappings of myth and legend. So I go from being a protectress of the ancient Celts to some kind of sex-starved black witch.
Arthur! Different praise and worship team altogether. Cuchulainn was the one who floated my boat. Whole different island. Back then we didn't even speak the same language as those Brits. And now look at me. I can't even find a decent job with all these tattoos.
Anne: Well, you could join the Patriot Guard Riders. You'd fit right in. Here, I'll scroll down so you can read about them while I go find something orange to wear.
Morrigan: Good idea. Because if you put on green clothing today, I'm gonna feed you to John Henry piece by piece.
Anne: Can I make one last plea for sanity here? I don't have a drop of Irish blood in my body. I'm Scottish. And a little bit Pennsylvania Dutch, on my wild child grandma's side. And today I was planning to wear this little ensemble. Note the Green Man earrings. Should I leave them on the shelf?
Morrigan: You're Scottish.
Anne: American, actually. For a long time. No Irish. Never Irish. That's my husband, and thank goodness he's gone to get the car detailed.
Morrigan: So you don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day.
Anne: Nope. And I don't have anything against snakes either, as long as I'm not climbing a cliff where they're warming their rattles for a long day ahead.
Morrigan: All right, then, I'll just take this book and go. Sorry to have bothered you.
Anne: Oh no no no! Don't misunderstand! You're always welcome here at "The Gods Are Bored!" Drop by for a pint some evening!
Morrigan: Maybe I'll make you some soup.
Anne: I'd rather eat soup than be soup. Agreed?
Morrigan: Agreed. Thanks for the chance to vent. I feel better now.
Anne: Have a nice day. You know, if you're looking for work, it might help to have some clothing. I'm going to the thrift store this afternoon. Wanna come?
Morrigan: Sure! I'll sit on your shoulder. As a crow, of course. Not as an awesome Celtic warrior goddess.
Anne: Time's a wastin! So tell me. What was it about Cuchulainn that made him so ... emm ...
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
print of Morrigan available at Enchanted Art.