Flying Magnolia Metaphysical Studio

09/01/2026

08/18/2026

You know I will be there as a vendor

We can't believe its almost upon us in 2 weeks! Huzzah! Please tag/invite three lady friends to invite them to try it this year, for Free tickets Tuesday! Please put this post on your page! They won't be disappointed! Aug 28th to Aug 30th, Thorndale Ontario! Please visit us at www.faires.ca for tickets and ALL details!

08/05/2026

Of all the strange and powerful figures in the old Irish myths, few are as unsettling or as commanding as the Morrigan, the phantom queen, a goddess of war, fate and sovereignty who moved through the ancient stories like a shadow over a battlefield. 🌿

Her name has been read in different ways, as great queen or as phantom queen, and both suit her, for she was a figure of terrible majesty. She was often described as three sisters or three aspects of one being, and she was closely tied to the land itself, to the idea that a rightful king was wedded to the sovereignty of Ireland. To lose her favour was to lose the land.

She appears most famously in the great epic of the Tain, the cattle raid of Cooley, where she comes to the hero Cu Chulainn. When he spurns her, she turns against him, hindering him in the shape of an eel, a wolf and a heifer as he fights at the ford. Later, when his death approaches, it is she who is said to appear as a washer at the river, rinsing his bloodied armour, a sign in Irish tradition that a warrior's end has come.

Above all she was linked with the raven and the crow, the birds that gathered over the slain. To see her settle in that dark feathered form on a battlefield was to know that death was near. She was not evil in the simple sense, but something older and stranger, a force of prophecy and reckoning that no warrior could command.

The Morrigan reminds us that the gods of our ancestors were not gentle. They were as wild and unpredictable as the weather off the Atlantic, as the turning of the seasons, as war and death themselves. She still haunts the edges of the Irish imagination, a dark queen watching from the mist, older than any king she ever made or unmade. 🍀

08/05/2026

The Keeper of the Marsh Fire

There is an old tale whispered only by those who still listen to the wind moving through the reeds.

Long ago, in a forgotten marsh where the veil between worlds was thin, there lived an ancient Green Man. He was older than the oldest oak and carried the memory of every forest that had ever grown. Moss clothed his shoulders, mushrooms marked the passing seasons upon his skin, and antlers reached toward the sky like the branches of a sacred tree.

Yet for all his wisdom, he came each evening to visit an old crone who lived beside a humble hearth built from stone and clay.

The villagers wondered why such a mighty spirit sought the company of a frail old woman.

What they did not know was this…

The Green Man remembered everything that had ever lived.

The Crone remembered everything that truly mattered.

As the fire crackled between them, they traded stories. She spoke of love lost and found, of children grown, of herbs gathered under moonlight, of births, deaths, and every lesson hidden in between. He answered with tales of the first spring, the language of ravens, the secret paths of deer, and the songs that trees sing beneath the snow.

A black raven carried their words to the spirits.

A sleeping ginger cat guarded the dreams.

A tiny frog listened from the moss, waiting to carry their wisdom into the rain.

Above them hung bundles of drying herbs protection, healing, remembrance, and peace each one blessed by their shared laughter.

It is said that if you ever find yourself lost in the wilderness, exhausted by the weight of the world, watch for the glow of a small fire beside still water.

If you see an old woman and a horned guardian deep in conversation, do not interrupt.

Simply warm your hands by the fire.

Listen.

For somewhere between the crackling flames and the raven’s quiet call, you may hear the one piece of wisdom your soul has been searching for all along.

And when you leave, you will discover that you have not found the marsh…

The marsh has found you.

Author Leona Beltane

Image author unknown

08/02/2026

Behind all the famous gods and heroes of Irish myth stands a shadowy mother figure that the whole magical race is named for. 🌿 Danu, the ancient goddess at the very root of Irish mythology.

The Tuatha Dé Danann, the god-like people who ruled Ireland before the coming of the Gaels, take their name from her. The phrase means the peoples of the goddess Danu. And yet she herself is a mystery. Almost no stories survive about Danu directly. She barely appears in the tales, and instead hovers behind them as a kind of divine ancestress, a mother of the gods, associated with the earth, with rivers and with the fertile land itself. Some link her to the Boann of the Boyne and other river goddesses, part of an old, deep idea that the land of Ireland was itself a living, mothering presence from whom everything else flowed.

She is proof of how much has been lost. 💚 A goddess so important that a whole race of gods carries her name, yet so ancient that her own story has faded almost entirely back into the land she came from.

06/07/2026

I am a vendor

I’m a vendor!

05/22/2026

In Appalachian folklore, storms were often seen as more than weather — they were messages, warnings, or living forces moving through the mountains.

Thunder rolling across the hollers was said to wake spirits, stir old magic, and remind folks that the mountains were older than anything man could build.

Many Appalachian families believed:
Leaving a broom on the porch during a storm could keep bad spirits from entering the home.
Thunderstorms after dark were “haint weather,” when restless spirits wandered more freely.
Some hung iron, bells, or horseshoes near doors to protect the house from lightning and unwanted energy.

Lightning striking close to home was sometimes viewed as a warning to pay attention to the spiritual world around you.

Rainwater gathered during a thunderstorm was believed by some folk practitioners to hold powerful cleansing or protective energy.

There’s also an old mountain belief that when storms roll through the fog-covered ridges, the mountains are “speaking back” — carrying whispers from ancestors, spirits, and the wild itself.

“Appalachian storms don’t just pass through the mountains… they wake them.”

— The Cauldron & The Crow®

05/05/2026

Creative Ways to Connect With The Green Man 💚 🌿 ✨️
)0( Lady Harmony 🌈 ♥️
Credit Source IG Willow Witchcraft