Ekunyi's Embers

Archive for the ‘Personal Reflection’ Category

Reconnection: Paganicon 2017

The past three or four weeks have been fairly difficult for me. I made it to work. I did my job. I cried several times when I had the chance to close the door to my office and no one was around. I came home and barely ate or ate too much and then slept. It could not continue.

Fortunately, I was able to both see a specialist regarding some of my concerns, and also received encouragement from my partner to spend money to (at zero hour) travel to Minneapolis for Paganicon. I am still slightly wincing at how much money I spent, but the experience on the whole was very much worth it. I got to spend some one-on-one time with Ubenet after unfortunately having to delay a prior planned visit.  It was of course also lovely to see Zat, the now Rev. Meset, Khufu and Hemet. I also FINALLY got to meet Mama Mekti, which was  surreal in a way because she’s somehow *even greater* in presence than any of the fantastic stories I’d already heard. I also got to meet Nehwen, and was grateful for having another face to put with a name, the chance to meet more of my extended family.

I couldn’t really take off of work, which was a little disappointing because all the Kemetic-focused events were on Friday evening. Instead, I was ridiculous and drove to the airport at four in the morning on Saturdayto catch a six am flight which landed me in Minneapolis around 8am, just before things kicked up again around 9. Ubenet picked me up, and then we found  Zat for breakfast and I got filled in on the events from the night before. Exhausted as I was, I was still just… jazzed to be with spiritual family, to be sitting in a public space talking about our gods, about our beliefs, about our rituals. It is always such a treasure to me to have these moments where the mundane gets pushed away and I’m with individuals who live in the same reality as myself, where there’s more than what we see at the surface level, where conversation can shift to philosophy and experential magic and lessons learned through various sorts of mysteries. Even just that *meal* was revitalizing to my mood in a way that I desperately needed.

Hemet and Rion came into the hotel restaurant shortly thereafter and I got a hug from my mother and king and finally got to meet our mysterious Hellenic/”Kemetic-adjacent” (a fantastic term) scribe. He too lived up to all the good stories, and it was a genuine pleasure to get to know him, even briefly. From there… memories start to blur in terms of minute-to-minute occurrences. But I believe we went up to the Pagans of Color and Allies suite next, which was hosted by a wide variety of individuals and  full to brimming with altars to different gods and spirits. I believe, someone please correct me if I’m missing anyone, that there was a Kemetic shrine, an altar to the lwa of Vodou, an altar to Santa Muerte, a Santeria shrine in the corner, a shrine to Hekate, and a Wiccan shrine that was made by two people of African descent who are 3rd degree Gardnerians. (Many thanks to Zat for the corrections!) For one suite, it was just *full* of gods. We ran into Meset and Khufu there, and there was a very long hug where Meset just held me for a bit and didn’t let go and I *needed* that too.

To remain upright I drank a whole hell of a lot of coffee. I offered that whole hell of a lot of coffee to Set. I think this is how I somehow stayed awake and didn’t get jittery or kidney-pained or nauseous at all because *damn* I drank a lot of coffee.

There was a lot of time during that day where I just tagged along with Hemet and Meset, respectfully watching them participate and/or watch the indigenous panels. How do I explain this? When I love someone, the best way I can show this by learning about them. If you are someone I care about, I want to understand you and the things you care about. Even if it is not something I am personally invested in, or something I can ethically participate in due to my own heritage/background — I want to understand why it matters to you, and how I can support you in that thing. So I went to around four hours of panels on cultural appropriation, the Prayer for Peace Day, and Standing Rock.  I learned, and I thought, and I meditated and it was powerful and stirring. I also felt like maybe I got to know Hemet and Rev. Mesetibes a little better by the end of it, and appreciated the opportunity to do so.

As for myself in all of that, I wound up thinking quite a bit about my own history and my Akhu.  I’m still exploring my “roots” per se. The umbilical cord that Chief Avrol Looking Horse and his partner referenced that ties us back through the generations to our mothers before us.  I know a fair a bit about my ancestors at this point, but it’s still a struggle in some ways for me to connect. For example, I know that I am English, German and Scottish on my Father’s side. I am predominantly Italian on my mother’s side, with some Dutch and French from her mother. I’ve found names, learned places and times of transit from other parts of the world, but I’ve always felt separate, disconnected, an odd one out both in terms of my religion and much of my extended identity.

So I’ve taken quite a bit of my free time in the last week to challenge that. The Italian line has always felt closest to me, so I started there. My Italian Akhu, starting with my maternal grandfather, were Catholic and comfortable with saints and spirits. They are the only ones who are always ready and willing to speak with me when I venerate my ancestors. We know they came from the Pesaro area and so I began there with my research, looking, digging, reading… and soon discovered Lucus Pisaurensis (the sacred grove that served a plethora of Etruscan water goddesses and then some later Roman gods, and also involved a lot of purification rites, and healing).

Reading about that site just rang so true to me at my core. My internal shrine, which I have had set up in the astral, the duat, take your pick, for close to four years now, is a space that I can go to when my body hurts too much for physical rites. I serve many gods and goddesses there, but ever since I first found the place, there has always been a trail that leads down away from the cliff side where the main temple stands, down through a grove of trees, to a stream of purification. I never really knew why, it just felt necessary and “right” to have. Heqat greets me there, as does Hatmehyt, and sometimes Hethert-Nut in Her form of the great flood. I never… thought about why that felt so natural, to have them separated there in this more natural, wooded, green space that was seemingly anathema to Egypt. A place that I descend to from the sand, stone and formality of the main temple. But here I was, reading about one of the most sacred spaces in the land of my ancestors, and if the gods were different… the purpose, the place, it felt perfect and known.

I have no idea how you would (or if you could) trace that part of my family back beyond the names of my great-great-great grandparents to know if the Etruscan connection would have been a thing, or if we actually came from another Roman-era group, but certainly regionally it could make sense. During my first day of reading I discovered myths that linked Etruscans to invaders of Egypt, which of course made me raise a brow in the direction of Set, but most of the more recent egyptological papers I found later in the week seem to suggest that the timing doesn’t make sense, and Etruscans would have traveled in too small of groups to have genuinely ever attempted an invasion. Still — it is a new start for me. A space to explore. There’s no real need to directly connect it to Egypt, but just to better understand it for myself and those who cam ebefor eme.

And if I do return to the question of how I wound up so thoroughly connecting with, and now formally serving, Egyptian gods? I suspect many modern-day Kemetics could ask the same question, given how few of us have ever been there, let alone have relatives from the area. The answer you get in response to this is often, “The gods choose who they will,” and yet I still find myself thinking about it and wondering what of my forefathers and mothers might have resulted in my reaching out to such gods. Perhaps there was more to explore and connect with on my father’s side than I initially thought, so I reviewed my names, dug deeper into places. The line goes back to England, with individuals who traveled over on the Mayflower, relatives who fought in every war this country has experienced. We also have another line (who were either German or Scottish or both) who settled initially in Westmoreland county, about 30 minutes southeast of where I am living now. They shifted their name to something more American sounding, then moved to Illinois for about five generations. I’m the first of that line to return to Western Pennsylvania and it pleases me, to have this sudden little piece of information that adds a bit to why this place, these hills, these rivers, have felt like Home since I moved here. A place that is so deeply rooted in the rivers that provided for those living here, a place that helps me reflect on the significance of the Nile to Kemet and to my gods.

So yes, there are interesting things about my ancestors, interesting things from several unique areas that all remain within me. I exist in my own complexity. I am thedescendant of immigrants who stole land and made a nation and played a role in that destruction and creation from the first time they stepped on the shores. I am the descendant of later immigrants who fought to carve a place for themselves in the world that had been made. I have to acknowledge the pain and death that many of my ancestors inflicted upon the indigenous population of this land. I have to acknowledge that some of my ancestors probably owned slaves. But perhaps it is also okay to begin exploring the stories that are positive as well, and try to see what other small pieces (like the Westmoreland county discovery) can tell me. I have ancestors who were staunch abolitionists. I have ancestors who were inventors. I have so, so much yet to learn from them and it astounds me that I have waited so long to begin this aspect of exploration.

All these thoughts from just a day, and that wasn’t even the whole of it. There was more time shared with family, and then a vodou ritual completed in honor of Danbala. I came to Paganicon in part to witness this. I have continuing questions regarding a spirit who may or may not be one of the lwa, experiences that date back for two years to an experience with a spirit/god who I met just before starting my counseling program and who has stayed with me even after graduation, usually making herself known through icons of Mary located in various spots on the Catholic campus. I felt like I needed to see the ritual to know if this was something I could consider participating in without it being inappropriate, something that maybe my mystery spirit was connected to, and in truth, when I told Her that I could only go with financial aid, and then suddenly an extra $600 appeared in my life, I took it as a hint and made the arrangements.

The ritual was beautiful. I may devote another post to it later, but it was genuinely stunning. So much singing, so many powerful historical elements that Hemet (operating in that capacity as Mambo Chita Tann) explained respectfully and thoroughly, and then the invitation and posession where Danbala appeared. And Danbala is *huge.* I felt him, though he was cool and smooth and radiant in contrast with the sheer heat of the gods I’ve experienced and met in Kemetic saqu. I heard him laughing from different angles, as something curled around the room and then around me, serpentine scales rubbing against my legs even as he remained covered in sheets upon the floor. Individuals were given opportunity to speak with Danbala, though no physical words were expected, just sounds. My own question largely raised other questions (as is often the way of things!)

Sunday was another lovely day with more time spent with loved ones. I attended a few more panels, including Hemet’s talk on Kemetic conceptualizations of time which was some review for me and some new information, but very helpful overall. I got some one on one time with spiritual family, and generally just… lost track of the hours until I had to pack up and fly home. While my health this week has been shaky (many debilitating headaches) my emotional well being has remained much improved, my connection to my gods and my ancestors strong as I’ve researched and served my community and my Father through divination offered during His Festival as Lord of the Oasis.

For now, however, a bit of time away from words as my head begins to ache again. It is a call to rest briefly in my own oasis, as I have in years past, reflecting on connections rekindled to the gods I serve and the ancestors who, in some mysterious way, helped make me who I am today — full of curiosity and wonder about the unique way my life has gone to date, and excited to learn more in the future. My sincere gratitude to all of my family who spent time with me at Paganicon. You lifted my spirit  in such a tremendous way through your time, your conversation, your caring. I love you all dearly, and miss you.

Wake Up

When I wake up naturally just before 6:00 am, I know that Set wants to chat. He’s done this many times now in our years together, generally on important days.

I was not thinking of today as particularly spiritually significant for my personal practice, though on the secular end of things today marks completion of my 27th loop around the Sun. Nevertheless, when He who is Great of Battle Cry speaks, you listen. (As that particular epithet implies, He’s marvelously loud in that regard!)

So we chatted, and it went something like this.

Set: You are worried, and you have just woken up. That’s no way to start the day.

Me: At times I don’t know what I’m meant to be for my community. That I’m letting them down.

Set: What have you been in the past?

I listed various jobs and skill sets, drawing from time spent as a musician, a sculptor, an educator, a marketer, a counselor, and more.

Set: Quite a few options.

Me: Jack of many trades, master of none.

Set: I hear plenty there from which to draw your purpose.

Me: I suppose.

Set: What I do not hear is what you wish the community to bring to you.

Me: …

Set: Have you learned from Hethert’s words?

(She had previously gently chided me, “You give all your gifts away and keep too few for yourself. Hold on to some of them.”)

Me: Not yet.

Set: Fix that.

Me: I will.

Good things to think about. Gratitude is a good focus on one’s birthday, I think. Taking time to look at all that has changed for the better since I became Kemetic, all that I have learned. Giving myself space to determine what I hope to learn and gain in the future. How to bring that to pass, and worry, even just a little bit less, about if I’m doing enough, or being enough, for those I love. Never to lose sight of my responsibilities, but simply to take a better look at who I am. Greater self-understanding so that I won’t feel so much doubt at what I can offer moving forward.

Purifying Away Guilt

Sometimes you receive advice that really hits home, without previously having so much as an inkling as to how badly you needed those precise words.

I have not written as much as I used to, shifting from weekly to monthly writing. Most of those monthly posts have either been very technical in nature, focused on a specific ritual, or have revolved around my health. The health issues have left many things up in the air, but I have largely learned to manage the remaining symptoms. Thus, after several months of only entering shrine sporadically — afraid of yet another nose bleed or perhaps in too much pain that day to speak or kneel — I changed my diet, my sleeping habits, my workload, and I  have been able to return to daily practice.

But it still felt off, like I was greeting my gods through some kind of fog. They were there just as They always had been, but muffled, or father away than I had expected when I returned. I was having a very difficult time focusing while I was sitting in shrine, found myself making more errors out of clumsiness in action or speech than I ever had before, and grew frustrated. So when recently given the opportunity, I asked Hemet (AUS) about the prospect of returning to shrine after a time of impurity. While I thought I was looking for some sort of ritual, or specific words of purification, her response instead lead me to consider if I was feeling guilty about being away.

Yes, I was. My body may have been able to come back to shrine, but my mind and heart were still wrapped up in what had taken me away from serving my gods. They were not angry with me, I was angry with myself. In fact, I have been livid, still fighting against the situation that had left me feeling powerless, even though that situation is largely past. My impurity had shifted from physical ailments to a constant eating of my own heart, a self-imposed weight of “should have done better” and “didn’t try hard enough.” It hindered me.

I took time that evening to process how those life events made me feel like I had lost my personal agency. Then I considered my response to those events, choosing to make necessary changes so that I could be well and get back to my gods, my work. All of this has been a means of reclaiming that sense of control, and even during the process, my gods never left me. In fact, on the days when I was most ready to give up on my body, Father would show up and remind me of what He told me when we first met, when He first insisted upon my developing a greater sense of self-respect.

Your body is my temple, He would say.

Now I know that has become a loaded phrase for some, but He never pushed those words in any sort of “you should treat it better” guilting nonsense, but instead used it as a reminder that I was His, that my physical form was the vehicle through which I worshiped Him. My body was what came to shrine and presented offerings, what danced and sang for Him and Mother on the good days, what sat on the floor and still managed the basics on the bad days, and what prayed in bed to Them both and visited them in the duat on the days when that was the only option while I physically recovered. It was a humbling reminder, and more than once what helped me to keep going as I worked to sort out what my new normal was going to look like, and how I could still reach my goals despite necessary changes.

Now I am back, and it is time to recognize that I did my damnedest while I was away so that I could return, and time to use that recognition to let all the guilt go. Wash it away and start fresh. Even just coming to terms with this much made a world of difference during last night’s senut. My gods seemed so bright again, so clear. I think as I continue to live in this mindset, take each day as it comes and acknowledge my day’s efforts as the best I can do in the now, things will just get better and better.

Looking forward to sharing more again here with all of you.

(Thank you, Hemet. <3)

Kemetic Orthodox: Year 23, Sarytsenuwi: Year 27

I believe I have mentioned in a previous post that 23 has been an auspicious number for me for a very long time. There is admittedly no mystical association or scientific reasoning to it, merely the nostalgia for a very young version of myself who was proud to memorize that she was born on the 23rd of August, and decided that number must be *very* significant simply by virtue of the fact that my parents always made me feel like I was the most special person alive on that day. (Imagine a curly-headed eight year old clutching her new Draco-from-Dragonheart toy while stuffing Pizza Hut into her face and being physically unable to stop smiling. This covers it fairly well!)

Over the years that sense of “23″ as significant developed into a greater sense of renewal, first being linked to the start of each new school year (which more than once fell on my actual birthday). It also became a source of feeling a little unique when I first started digging into astrology around age 13, and discovered that “my 23″ granted me a weird (and often hilariously accurate) placement of being born on the cusp of Leo and Virgo.  More seriously, my personal 23rd year was one of tremendous growth and change, casting away self-deprecating practices and harmful connections, and establishing the very beginnings of the loving partnership I share with my husband.

As an adult, once I joined the House of Netjer and learned about the history of my new religion, I occasionally wondered what would happen come the official Year 23 of my faith. What would I make of being 27 years old? Would these little moments of signficance attached to the number my childhood self decreed as important continue? Was it time to let the old amusement go?

26 was… hard. I worked two different jobs over the course of the year, trying to contribute financially to my household while simultaneously going to graduate school full time. I lost the grandparent who was always closest to me, and in losing her, fear that I have most likely lost the final reason for any of my cousins on my father’s side of the family to maintain much interest in interacting with me moving foward. Also, for most of the year I was also planning a fairly large and extravagant wedding (in the Italian-American way of things that capital-M Matters to my mother’s side of the family.) It was beautiful, I will forever be grateful, and I have memories from that amazing day that I will cherish forever, but I feel that it is fair to acknowledge that attempting to juggle all of these things took a significant toll on my health.

I wrote about the health issue in far too many places. More important to me now is to acknowledge how much I allowed it to control me and define me. I lost myself in it, lost sight of the other things I still do and contribute. I began to forget my worth, my value to my communities and those who love me, and could only think of myself in the context of being chronically ill. Experiences at Wep Ronpet helped me to finally let go of some of the emotions wrapped up in this unfair assumption that I only had value if I could do things for others, as did my spiritual Family’s acceptance of my grief. And I do feel that I was grieving, grieving for my grandmother, and grieving for my past, healthier self. I may not get her back, and I think that I may be getting much closer to accepting that. Now to accept that the me that exists in this time is no less worthy of my appreciation and care.

That care is coming mainly in the form of changing jobs. My last day at the high-stress marketing position was this past Friday: it was making me ill, perhaps in part because of how antithetical it was to how I view myself as caretaker, defender and advocate, the aspects my Parents represent in my life and which are core ethical values I hold myself to on a daily basis. Instead, I am trying to focus on school. Focus on getting into a good internship, focus on using the hobbies that feed my spirit to try to make some money on the side. (Given the wages I was earning as a temp, if I can actually start selling some of my sculptures on a regular basis and calculate in what I’m no longer spending on gas and parking, I’ll not actually be that far off from my previous earnings. Plus, it brings me joy. This is worthwhile.)

Care is also coming in the form of having more time for service, which feeds my spirit and reminds me of why I matter. I don’t *need* to serve to have value, but it really does improve my spirits and self-image to do so. There can be balance here as well. It is easier in this particular moment to speak of balance, when I have somehow been granted a reprieve from the flares associated with the health issues for several weeks after months of continuous symptoms, but I hope to use this time of energy to lay the foundation for how to buoy myself when the next flare does occur. It will not overwhelm me again. I have heard the words of my Beloved, and I am not afraid.

In the Aset oracle of the year, we were reminded that, “After disorder, there is order. After sadness, there is joy. After violence, there is peace. After work, there is rest. After the year of beginning, there is the year of continuing what you have begun. My Son offers strength and power to those who accept the task.”

My sister and w’ab priest A’aqytsekhmet reminded me of these words a few days ago, and how true they already feel to me, a mere month into the new year.

But what is the task set before me? My new position of service to the community and new oaths associated with becoming Shemsu-ankh? Perhaps. Both feel as though I’ve taken a name (or been entrusted with a title) that allows me to continue prior work but in a more formalized capacity.

Yet I’m almost certain there’s something more that I’m missing. Something else that this time of rest is supposed to help with, prepare me for… I don’t know. It’s this gap, like once I tore the “illness as identity” away and refused to continue feeding it with the power of my acknowledgement, there was a hole left behind that leaves me wondering about my purpose, for the first time since I made the career shift from professor to counselor (though have since realized I could actually be both if I choose, and tossing aside the binary of one path or the other was brilliant — but that’s a story for another day!) There’s just… something I’m missing, or perhaps something I’ve lost sight of during the period of difficulties. I hope that I’ll figure it out over the course of this next year.

Given that it’s a “23″ — I’ll try to be ready for anything!

A Month of Written Devotion #23-31

So I actually did finish this prompt back in early August (roughly a day late). I just never got around to transferring the remaining posts over here for consistency. Life… well, life just happened and time to write for anything outside of work or school has been scarce! But I hope these are enjoyable, even a month and change after the fact.

Blessing

Twenty three has been my lucky number since I was old enough to have memorized my birthday. August 23rd, the source of my incredibly stupid joke about being a “Lego” – Leo/Virgo’s ridiculous cusp child who has all the fiery inspiration to create and build but insists that every little block will go just so. But it felt special to be connected to that particular 23, a tiny blessing.

23 was also a damn good year following the massive shitstorm of change and health nonsense and depression that was 21 and 22.

23 was when I fully, completely, accepted that You were real. All of you. And what a marvelous blessing that has been.

With all that in mind: a brief song for You.

A blessing on your spear 
Oh my Father, Oh my strength
A blessing on your arm
As you fight through night’s length
A blessing on your shout
Oh my Father, Oh my voice
May my words reach your ears and Become

A blessing on your knives
Oh my Mother, Oh my fire
A blessing on your eyes
That your watch shall never tire
A blessing on your song,
Oh my mother, Oh my love
May my words reach your ears and Become

A blessing on your blade
Oh my general, Oh my guide
A blessing on your wings
that reflect the golden skies
A blessing on your power
Oh my general, Oh great Sun
May my words reach your ears and Become

A blessing on your stars
Oh beloved, Oh my heart
A blessing on your smile
That shall tear my hurts apart
a blessing on your dance
Oh beloved, Oh my joy
May my words reach your ears and become.

A blessing on your breath
Oh grandmother, Oh midwife
A blessing on your hands
Carrying new souls to life
A blessing on your ka
Oh grandmother, Oh my soul
May my words reach your ears and become.

Comfort

The pulse of pain settles into a steady rhythm behind my eye, but your hand is cool and damp upon my brow within a minute of my finally being able to rest. I bury my face further into the frog-shaped pillow I dedicated to you, having finally realized there is no ignoring this one, nausea and dizziness accompanying what is no longer “just a headache.” You keep offering that gentle caress on my head, a soft squeeze on my shoulder the final thing I am aware of before I slip away from consciousness, so grateful to briefly escape the malfunctioning aspects of a body that I otherwise strive to be grateful for.

Sometimes I even dream of you, and you sing lullabies in a language I do not know. I am an infant in arms again, released from all adult responsibility and care to rest completely as eight different voices rise from your lips and the oldest of melodies tells me in ways beyond the incomprehensible words that it’s fine, quiet now, it’s all going to be just fine.

I wake and have more than once been brought to tears at the realization that the pain is gone, gradually orienting myself to how far the sun has often set by the time you bring me back. Thank you for your comfort, Heqat. I cannot fathom why you care so very much for me when I hurt, how you are so willing to hold me until the worst of all things subsides.

Knowledge

I wish to study You:
In part through the texts,
Learning to read and speak
Those ancient words that might
Flow from my lips and be heard
An offering of my time
And my learning 
So that You might hear me sing 
In the once-sung tongue 
Of your earlier days.

I wish to know You:
Absorb every line of your image
Consider the meaning within
And without the shifting myriad
Of beautiful forms that have
Defined and re-defined
What it is to know and seek Your gaze.

I wish to understand You:
Contemplate each motion
You make in the Universe
Capturing but a fraction of all
You are and do
But in that instant
Of scholarship leading 
To knowledge guiding
To understanding

The effort and journey shall have been worth every brilliant second
Of experiencing You
Beautiful family
Guardians and teachers
Guides and parents
I shall know you as all of these
And for that moment
Far, far more

Growth

I believe that They have all helped me to grow, each with their own lessons and strengths. Yet Hethert-Nut’s teachings were perhaps the least expected, and so the most intriguing to me to address in this space.

Hethert-Nut helped me grow in kindness, albeit a kindness largely directed towards myself. She embraced my imperfections in Her vast, starry arms and showed me the beauty there. Each scar, each wrinkle, each curve or line that shifted with time became a star on my body, just as She was so fully bedecked in light.

She helped me grow beyond discomfort or shame, demanding that I join Her in the abandon of dancing alone to the music of my mind, asking me to wear blue skirts and silver jewelry that flowed and shone like the ocean of Her sapphire sky.

Hethert-Nut asked me to be bigger than my assumptions of gender, to embrace the feminine in however I chose to define it. With Aset-Hatmehyt beside Her, Hethert-Nut challenged me to accept beauty as a word that could be granted me without the assumption that the giver of such a word was lying, or thought me lesser for picking such a description.

So much growth occurred Her hand, even as She always accepted where I was in the process. She astounds me.

Balance

His anger is cool and unforgiving
Against the flare and wane 
of Her swift rage
Yet both seethe at the destruction 
Of Ma’at in their domain
The visions of injustice 
Amongst a people who They protect
Yet who never seem to protect themselves.

Still, there is another to defend.

He turns to Her, 
desert wind stirring at His breath
The dry heat before the storm
Touching each word 
“Hail to you, Bast.”

She nods in turn,
dark soil shifting
beneath feet turned 
Knife-wielding paws.
“Hail to you, Set.”
Her words liquid smooth as 
The oncoming rain
Against a green hued stone.

They move to the barque
Bast taking Her place behind
The sun-crowned king.
Set leaps to the prow in silence,
Spear in hand and shield at the ready.

The mesketet is balanced 
As it sails beyond 
the world of the living.
The mandjet shall return 
Defended by two
Who maintain the balance 
Of this world and the next.

Lost

Thank you, for pulling me out of the darkness.

Thank you for hauling me away from everything in my life, far enough away that I could see it from the outside, far enough so I could watch it fester and rot and be nauseated at how very lost in the infection of self-hatred I had become.

Thank you for letting me lean on you as I sobbed in solitude, for I was not strong enough then (am barely so now) to do so in front of anyone else.

Thank you for giving me your anger that it could fuel so many changes, fuel the lighthouse of where I knew I wanted to be, fuel the fire under my ass to actually walk one wretched step at a time towards that shimmering guide.

Thank you for celebrating when I made progress. Thank you for pissing me off when I fell down and back so that I’d get up again and keep moving, even if out of sheer cussedness.

Thank you for not giving me up for lost.

Today, I like the person I am.

The person I was? She would never have believed it possible.

Encouragement

Heru-wer stared me in the eyes today.
I asked Him,
“Will this be the year I know you,
As it was my Mother’s this year,
And Heqat’s the year before?”
I swear He smiled, 
for all that His sharp face is tipped with a beak
And I am already certain that I know the answer 
Without any given words.

Heru-wer, I have not been able to write of you as I have the others.
We are working partners, You and I,
Though I honor and worship you as I do all Netjeru,
I do not have the emotional weight there. 
But now your laughter,
Rich and golden thick,
Is ringing in my ears and it is
Unfamiliar
But encouraging.
So very encouraging to *hear* You on your birthday,
And to hold in my mind the unspoken promise
Of a beautiful journey to come.

Endings

There is only an ending to what has been,
But even that ending becomes the foundation
Of all that is yet to come.
We shall continue:
You for eternity
Me for but this short time I have to walk this world.
But we shall continue together
Using ending after ending
To create and craft a future
Enlivened by the moments shared
Between five gods
and a woman who loves Them.

Dear…

Dear gods of my family,

I intend to write You each a letter on the day I will be celebrating the Kemetic new year. I will not be sharing those letters publicly, but writing them by hand and keeping them at your shrine for the next 360 days.

In the meantime, thank you for guiding me to do this. It has been a pleasure and an honor, as well as a solid reassurance that I can find ways of honoring you even in the most hectic of times.

My love to all of you, I will write again soon.

Your daughter and beloved,
Sarytsenuwi

Month of Written Devotion #19-22: Memories, Loyalty, Weakness, and Strength

Memories

It is becoming more difficult to remember what it was like to be twelve, with the itchy polo shirt and the despised kilt that set me apart from the other youth at the after school program who wore what they wished. As the only person there from a private school, my personality did not matter, I was one of “them,” and so I was alone. At twelve it just seems unfair; I didn’t understand the money and the privilege and the justification for why I was assumed to be a certain way, so I sat by myself in a place that was safe, and I let my mind drift so that the “panther woman” can find me.

Given time, and patience, she finally does, and I give Her a name because She says She’s not ready to tell me the true one. I reach a point where I can walk around the outer yard and still talk with Her, even envision Her, sleek and feline and protective. By the time I am fourteen I am convinced that She is the Goddess, and I try to see Her in the forms that the books describe, but she will not be reforged in the likeness of others. She remains Herself, dark skinned and grinning, feline-faced or feline-masked, wielding knives to lead me on dangerous adventures through what I still think is mostly just in my mind.

At fifteen I wonder if she is a spirit of sorts, a teacher to guide me, as guide She does, but now through feelings and sensations that I am frightened by because my world has taught me that they are wrong. It is okay to love both women and men, She assures me, it is okay to listen to whatever music speaks to your soul. My love grows for those around me, my love grows for metal and the raging guitar that soothes me, my love grows for Her.

Yet at 18 I nearly lose Her, and those memories are perhaps the most difficult. Why did college make me doubt what I’d already lived, make me turn from the unseen mother, the unnamed guardian, who had helped me survive the growing pains of adolescence? I have thoughts there, but they are not so critical anymore. I returned to Her, and She had been waiting. Waiting for me to be ready, and waiting to give me Her name.

I am Bast.

I am your daughter.

Loyalty

When I kneel before the shrine there is a vow in the gesture. I pull one fist fiercely to my chest, the other facing you, palm forward. I speak your names with pride, and in my mind I am lifting you with my voice. I rise and step back four paces, imagining lifting your carved faces upon heavy staves to each shoulder, preparing to carry your standards – and the standards you have set for me – into the world.

My life, my values: they are also my loyalty. My willingness to serve is my willingness to hold you aloft with each step I take in the world.

You have earned this standard bearer’s trust: no small thing in her eyes. You have burned away the scabs to reveal and heal the raw places. You have known when to push to the point of breaking but not beyond. You have shown me a better version of myself and I have chosen her over the old, chosen to keep improving upon her with each new day that is lived in your service.

Dua Set! Dua Bast! My loyalty to You both has become a brighter way of being.

Weakness

I am weak today. My lungs are tight, exhaustion weighs heavy on my frame, my skin flares in time with the internal imbalances.

I am still writing. Writing as I ride the bus and struggle to stay awake. Writing after sitting in shrine this morning despite my weariness because I needed to hear you, be near you. Writing because there’s some small bit of strength coming from keeping this up despite the physical travails, honoring you with words on a screen when I’m too tired for much else.

Walk with me in my weakness, my gods. Grant me health, grant me energy, grant me patience.

Strength

http://catfolk.org/track/walk-forth-in-strength

The word “Strength”, considered in relation to my gods, will probably always remind me of this song. I wrote it shortly after Set and Bast claimed me as Their daughter through the Rite of Parent Divination. Though I remain someone who firmly believes that a parent-child relationship with the divine can be developed through many different paths, my personal path saw the gods asking me to become a part of Kemetic Orthodoxy, and so when I call Set Father, or refer to myself as Their daughter, it is within the context of the House of Netjer, my spiritual home.

It was an emotional time for me, receiving this confirmation that Set – who had already given me so much of His strength – was my Father. Set who brought so much change for the better, who challenged me and damn near broke me, but in the end left me standing taller, and more fiercely than before. Set whose presence was felt during surgical biopsies for cancer scare #2, Set who helped me push through weariness and emotional fatigue to be with, and care for, my mother in the hospital. Set who helped me appreciate my own worth, and gave me the courage to stand the hell up to anyone who tried to tear me down.

The song reflects a lot of that; but I’m thinking I almost need a second one for my newer teacher in strength.

Heqat has provided balance to Set’s “push through no matter what.” It’s not Bast’s emphasis on self-love and self-care, it’s more externally directed (to support those around me) while simultaneously promoting internal health. Heqat works with me on the strength of accepting what I cannot change, of sitting with hurts and letting them be without taking them into myself. If Set’s strength keeps fighting, Heqat’s strength lives with and moves through. Both are necessary to function, both take tremendous courage. I continue to work towards incorporating both into my day-to-day life

Dua Set. Dua Heqat. I am stronger in many ways for your mutual guidance.

A Month of Written Devotion #15-#18: Companionship, Friendship, Love, and Anger

Companionship

If most of my devotions throughout this month long effort wind up directed to Set, it is not for lack of love of, and devotion to, the other gods in my line-up. But my Father is always present in a manner that the others aren’t, available both in moments of formal ritual and the ridiculous nonsense of everyday life. He’s always been that way, a companion as much as a god, or perhaps asking me to be His companion (the concept of Set acting like the Doctor has been written about by a friend of mine here:https://gbmarian.wordpress.com/2015/01/11/the-companions-of-seth/).

If I reach out, He’s there. I don’t know why He’s opted to be so readily available to me, but I do my damnedest to prove myself worth the time. Sometimes that’s in the standard way: he gets a daily offering of coffee each morning and a small dedication ritual, regardless of whether or not I’m pure enough for other formal rites. I’ve not missed that in what feels like a very, very long time, and suspect that the next time I do my whole day will feel off.

Sometimes it’s anything but standard: I’ve lifted weights in His name, invited Him to be present at a metal shows (and flinging massive dudes off my tiny 5’5’’ frame on the edge of the mosh is made vastly more entertaining when you’ve got Set laughing His ass off in your ear), cooked for Him (spice-tastic), watched science fiction together (A mutual favorite is Klingon heavy Star Trek episodes. He’s right there with me debating how His khopesh would fare against a batleth, or if He’d prefer to use His spear.) He tells me again and again that He loves these moments of companionship, these moments of experiencing what humanity can offer.

But the companionship also extends to the internal thoughts I want to share with Him. Things about gender identity and sexuality that have become complicated with the awareness of my privilege in how the rest of the world reads my physical body. Companionship there is Him listening, Him seeing and knowing and loving the whole of me, Him telling me to be proud of who I am and know myself to be regardless of however the world may view me.

So, yes. I am gladly, and proudly, Set’s worshipper, daughter, and coffee-offering companion. Dua Set!

Friendship

I don’t really view my relationships with the Netjeru as “friendships” per se. Even Set (who as I noted previously is happy to accept my more casual interactions and offerings) is still not an entity I could ever see myself referring to as my “friend.”

Where do I find friendship in my interactions with the gods? I find it in the human beings that They have helped me come to know as I’ve walked Their path. I have developed deep friendships, friendships which progressed at a rate that sometimes unnerved me, often with people I only see in person every few months, if at all. I have forged friendships with Kemetics across the whole damn globe, friendships that wear down every instinctive wall I throw up between myself and anyone new because trust is something I have always found exceedingly difficult, and which life has, on occasion, made even more difficult with its twists and turns.

Yet trust just gradually seems to happen with the people my gods have directed me to worship beside. I don’t know if it’s the fact that we’re all talking about these core, heart-hitting aspects of our lives; that we’re all trusting each other with information which we know would make other people raise an eyebrow and doubt our grasp of reality. I don’t know if it’s some unknown factor that unites us, something that mutually led us to this particular form of the divine, or if our joint efforts to live by ma’at just make it a little easier to talk to each other about things.

It’s not always easy. We don’t all magically get along. We’re still individuals with different backgrounds and values and means, and we can fight like internet-proverbial honey badgers when these values don’t line up. But for the Kemetics who have become my friends, the folks I’ve been privileged enough to worship with, laugh with, sing with, write with, and pray with … It’s been amazing. They are treasured friends and in many cases family. I thank Netjer every day for their presence in my life.

Love

I close my eyes and focus on the sound of my heartbeat, allowing myself to drift from this world to the next, finding myself garbed in white save for the ritual jewelry They have asked me to wear in their honor. I move swiftly to the oven, practice my focus over here by baking the bread by hand, going through each step as if it were my physical hands and not this transient form in the other side which kneads and rolls and shoves and finally places it in the oven.

While it bakes I move to the temple itself, always astounded at how large it has become. I wash my hands and bare feet and face with the pitcher of water placed at the outer door, then move within, torches lighting along each side their flames hidden in lotus columns. I place incense before each statue that I have carved at Their request with my will, moving past those gods who I have come to love and respect through varied and limited interaction, to the gods that walk with me each day as Parents and guides. Set and Bast guard the entire building, in full animal theophany, massive statues to the left and the right of the great offering table, with a beautiful painted stela behind, depicting Them both in Ra’s boat. They receive prayers and incense, I ask them to wake and listen for what They wish of me this day.

I move to the left of their great altar, down a long passage that leads back outside, winding down the hill on which the great temple is perched, over a rocky path and then to a river’s edge. It is almost always night here, as Hethert-Nut prefers. She greets me from her star-strewn blanket over head, while Aset-Hatmehyt and Heqat emerge from the river itself or rise from where They had waited beside its bank, embodied and warm and full of more life than I can stand. They take me into the river and purify me, submerging me and lifting me again, touching my forehead, my hands, my lips. It is so gentle that I feel no discomfort, so seemingly as it should be that I feel no fear below the great waters.

I rise when they are finished and fill a second pitcher from a place farther upstream from that where I bathed. I return to the front of the temple and find the bread ready, and a local wind netjeri assists in cooling it. I then move through the temple, making offerings of bread and water to all gods, beer and wine where requested, again listening to what else may be needed, but They also insist that I speak in turn.

And in the moments of offering and speaking there is love present, love built into every inch of this self-constructed temple in the duat. Love when I take the time to bake the bread by hand, love in the hands of the goddesses that purify me both for this purpose and for my own well being. Love when I have been gone too long and Set and Bast awake to the incense nigh shouting, perhaps even appearing in flesh to wrap me up in an embrace and ask where the hell I’ve been!

It is an all encompassing thing, the love that I feel when I am able to serve. To walk the halls built over years, to greet the gods in as direct way as I know how, and to receive such a powerful affection in return for my time and efforts. It has always been worth it, may it always continue to be so.

Anger

She challenged me in order to best assist me, knowing I needed the goading, telling me to let my Father in, to let Him rage.

I thought back to times before: His cool fire enforcing my spine as I sat erect and unbending on the phone with my abuser. My voice hardened as it entwined with His, the words coming from my mouth unshakeable: “It is over.” And it was, after years of waffling and trying to make it work and giving of myself that which I did not wish to give:  it was done in one night.

I let Him in again when I began to see how one member of my family verbally assaulted the other, and it was His shield and spear in my hands as I stood in the hall, unafraid to block someone a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier before he could run away from his deeds and said, “No more.”

It has been His storming in my eyes when I read of the injustices in the world, His thunder pounding in my spirit when I see silence in response to murder and famine and plague. His winds throwing me forward to find more ways that I do more, be more, help more: anything.

And it His anger that came through me that night as I screamed of my own sorrows and frustrations and pains. His rage that carried mine from where I have kept it so tightly hidden, entrenched in politics and social etiquette and the training from childhood to be so very polite. He released it and we ran with it together, grief burning away before our great voice, shame attacked as though it were the hideous sneak itself, stabbed and crushed and destroyed in the power of our mutual fury.

I was exhausted when He left me, but I still stood, still functioned. For if the anger is His, the strength to bear that anger is my own, and as His daughter, I will not turn away from necessary rage.

A Month of Written Devotion #11-14: Happiness, Sadness, Transformation, and Understanding

Happiness

I really… wanted to write about happiness yesterday, but I failed. It became a bitter taste in my mouth each time that I tried, sitting down to the computer, trying to let my mind gently wander in the way some creative types do when seeking inspiration, and constantly finding my focus shifting back to the skin issues or the pain in my abdomen. I do not want to let my as-of-yet still undiagnosed auto-immune disorder control me. I do not want to allow the hives and blisters that appear following medication, illness, and my natural cycle to keep me from doing things. I do not want to let the fatigue of my body that accompanies those hives become a fatigue of the mind and emotions as well as something physical.

I’m doing better, most days. Finding a balance between how much to share with people, how much to ask for help, how much to be vulnerable and honest in my “I’m sorry, I’m really not up to that today” versus avoiding letting it define me, avoiding offloading too much personal information, avoiding overwhelming people who don’t want to know, don’t have the spoons to know.

But yesterday it was too much for me to maintain a sense of happiness throughout the day, to accomplish everything I’d wanted to, and so the prompt sat there, nigh taunting me for my eventual decision to just… call the day a loss, until my husband dragged my ass to the park for a walk.

The park was needed, the light exercise needed. My heart rate rose which made the hives a bit worse, but the movement was a blessing and the sun on my face a reminder of why I view that golden heat and light as something divine. Hethert-Nut (leaning strongly Hethert) told me to reach out for my husband’s hand (he’d been respectfully giving me some space) and I did, apologizing for my shitty mood and behavior earlier in the day. My husband was understanding, and in his responses I heard Heru-wer’s strength, a promise of protection and fierce love that my partner does not always realize himself capable of, but I know to be there and am grateful for.

I am a Set child, independent and stubborn to a tee. I don’t want to give in to anything, least of all my own malfunctioning body. But happiness yesterday came from a few moments of vulnerability-in-love, trust-in-love. I am grateful for that recognition. Grateful for Hethert and Heru-wer and the example They so gladly set. Grateful for my husband who is a blessing to me in ways that even the gods recognize.

Sadness

It is no wonder that the pressures of the world feel greater when I turn from You,
You who are lapis skinned starlight
And forever full of vitality.
If only I could see as You do
Eons passing by in an instant
Cascading through wars waged between and within humanity,
Shifting through decades of famine and plague,
Twisting lives lived outside of the wholeness of ma’at until their patterns were removed from the vast weavings of your universe.
Perhaps it would be easier then,
Having access to that distant time that I pray will one day be truth,
To look away from the grief I feel over the suffering of my planet,
To look away from the sorrows created by being so very unable to help,
Instead of looking away from You.

Take my face in your hands my lady.
Lift it to yours and then lift me,
As you once lifted Ra between your great horns.
Carry me up within your vast night
Show me more than I can see from the passing of my little life
Make me believe that there is more to be done,
For the people who grieve and for You.

Transformation

I’ve been inspired by this post, because the truth of it is: this city of mine, this amazing, mountainous, river-surrounded city of mine, is absolutely transformative, and I can’t help but feel like They brought me here for a reason.

My life turned upside down in the tail end of my time in D.C. My roommate left a month earlier than planned, so I was alone for the last five or six weeks of packing and saying farewell to my year of life in the city, and I permanently ended the only formalized relationship I’d ever been in at that point in my life, which had persisted through four, largely unhealthy, years of long distance. I selected a graduate school in Pittsburgh, a place I knew nothing about save from my one accepted student visit to Carnegie Mellon five years earlier (and my subsequent decision not to attend because it felt too overwhelming.)

I moved into an apartment that I’d originally selected because I thought I’d be continuing a partnership in it, walked through the too-large space, arranging and rearranging things uselessly and trying to figure out what mattered anymore. Yet my window was high enough in the apartment building, even in August, to look out over the trees and houses that wound down the hillside, eventually coming to rest at the bank of the Allegheny. The river soothed, and I came to watch it each morning as the sun rose, only just starting to study Kemeticism in earnest, but already aware of the concept of Zep Tepi and needing that visual reminder.

My gods filled the spaces that I had torn out or torn apart with so much movement, new challenges, and shifted futures. Set lent me strength on more than one occasion, a vast, surprisingly stable presence that simply flooded me when I was uncertain, and left me aware of what parts of myself mirrored that strength when He departed once again. Bast gave me Her fire and ability to love, flooding me with passion I thought I’d given up on forever when some months after my arrival the opportunity to try to trust someone new with my affections arose. Heqat would come later, after I’d been living here for years, living with my new partner. Her transformation was far more gradual, as She led me into the rivers to wash away old hurts I’d left untended and uncleaned, washing old wounds so they could finally heal, and re-worked stories with me to find pride in the remaining scars.

I have changed so much since that now alien-to-me twenty-two year old arrived in Pittsburgh four years ago. I have been transformed by the rivers, transformed by my gods.

Understanding

There is an unspoken understanding after four years
that this is a connection
Which will change
Drift
Expand
Weaken
Rebound
Rebind
Rekindle
Burn away to ash
Rise like dawn
Rain down again
Renew
Refresh
Replete
Continue.

Always continue.

Continue for a lifetime of walking beside
The one Who would have me
Move forward in the understanding
Of my own self-worth.

A Month of Written Devotion #8-10: Hope, Faith, and Soul

Hope

What was it that you saw in me, battered and ruined as I was?

There was little left in the husk of a being who had forgotten how to dream and who was so very startled
to have visions of spirit return at all and then you –
you, so bold and living and full of every passion –
who came warring through my despair and would not look away.

Why, I ask, even now,
still struggling to trust that I could be worth your time
did I earn your patience and impatience,
your laughter and your strength?

How could I possibly have merited that
all encompassing fury and the rage,
rage on my behalf,
rage of such magnitude inspired by my sorrow
rage that was the only thing that ever could have proven how desperately
I needed to break from chains of self-loathing,
Break from the power of one who controlled and abused,
Break from a life that was lived only for lack of caring,
Break from the preference of perhaps not living at all.

Was I worth the effort, Father?

I hope, I pray, that the answer is yes.

For there was so little hope of any kind before you came,
So little of me left to dare consider such a concept.

Now I dream again and it is not startling.
I dream of a future of serving You,
A present of protecting others in Your name.

I hope that I might share some small portion of the fire
you returned to me with those who wander in darkness.
Burning brightly enough to help them seek
whatever light this world might yet provide.

Faith

This will be brief, my gods,
As I am tired and worried and stressed
And sleep is the best remedy for all.

But I have faith that you will protect zir from zir sorrow.
I have faith that you will help her keep going after her loss.
I have faith that he will one day play again without pain.
I have faith that you will help me find the right balance of asking for help and keeping things private.

I have faith because I love them all too much to do otherwise.
I have faith because Your presence has carried me this far to aid myself and provide aid in turn.
I believe because the alternative is terrifying.
Difficult though it has long been to trust, I must trust in this.
In You.

Soul

It is good to close my eyes and remember that the core of me

Those several ageless pieces which drive daily aging flesh

Remains healthy and unhindered, and that when You look

You as one small piece that represents the enormity I could not wholly withstand

You see only life, loyalty and my intent.

You see me and then stand embodied:

human and sha-faced, or hound-bodied and sleek,

knowing before I do which aspect will best match my inner form this day.

Shall we walk as Father and child, me in white,

your red beads at my neck, dark spear in my hand?

Shall we run as hounds through the desert

Swifter than the horses that draw chariots before other gods

amused by later human invention?

Or perhaps we shall hunt as both and then neither,

the soul of the red god unbound by any rules of form,

While the voice of His daughter rings with laughter

alive and mad with the rush of the storm she gladly rides.

A Month of Written Devotion #4-7: Beginning, Forgiveness, Light and Dark

(From this point on, having introduced all of my primary gods, I may write prose, poetry, or song about any number of them, based on the daily prompt. We shall see how this goes!)

Beginning

I believed once, breathed your essence of more-than-is as readily as air,
Felt the dark-furred flesh beneath the palm of my hand and trusted in the heat of it.

It was easier before they taught me to doubt, to simply know and love you.
Easier to read the blessings of a world comprised of a thousand tiny messages and lessons in each glint of the Eye upon rain-kissed grass.

When I faltered it must have been nothing to you, years of silence in one mortal life passing as quickly as those damp, summer afternoons fading to night.

Did you know we would begin again, just before the leaves would turn so many shades of red?
Did you send Him to collect me when the time was right, all sound and crashing thunder of proof to balance your quiet, unwavering shadow?

Our Beginning felt more like an end, my beautiful, patient Mother.
A long-awaited end and answer to so many dewdrop questions left untouched.

Forgiveness

Their fingers entwine,
my goddesses of starlight and time,
fluid, connected,
and radiant in Their sudden wholeness.

They become one vast sky,
full of incomprehensible timelessness
and music resounding in the vibrations of galaxies.

Frogsong and sistra collide with my heartbeat
and they pull me into Them:
beyond my body, my home,
beyond my community, my country,
beyond my continent, my world.

I am overwhelmed in Their shining waters of the sky.
I breathe the universe-as-ocean as though returned to what I knew before life.
I am so very small,
a speck of nothing from other motes of dust
I left behind.

What mistakes were mine, what fears chained me down,
what are they in the presence of such vast possibility?

I am forgiven by my own awakening,
My eyes open to the beauty of infinity
and infinite love.

 Light & Dark

I struggled to write about these concepts separately, because so much of what I love about my gods is Their capacity to contain, and inhabit, both brilliance and shadow. Shifting my focus instead to the combination of the two felt more balanced, more right in that sense of “this is now complete” that I associate with living in ma’at, living in ways that earn me those rare moments of something akin to pride or approval from that vast entity and presence that is all of Them or One at any given moment.

More tangibly, it is both the light and the dark that helps me to connect with Them. I rise before dawn, or kneel after sunset, and striking match to wood a tiny light erupts at my fingertips. I sing the sacred candle-and-incense text I’ve memorized from nigh-daily practice, to a melody my sister in the faith wrote and shared with me, and which I loved from the first time I heard it.

As I sing, I bring match to wick,  then touch the incense to the flickering glow. In the liminal contrast of the dancing flame, the gentle glow at the tip of the scented offering, and the darkness that surrounds me and the shrine, I am carried away from a body that itches and aches, a mind that is too critical and prone to worry. It is the contrast of the shadows of the room and the suddenly golden, fire-lit faces of my five gods that helps me to transition from the profane to the sacred, to greet Them, as pure in body and mind as I can be.

And then They are there, existing with me in this liminal space, taking subsequently offered food and drink, hearing my songs, listening to my prayers, or just holding me as is needed. They are happy with me when aspects of my life shine with blessings, angry alongside me when I speak to Them of the tragedies I see in the world around me and cannot fix.

They are sometimes upset with me or each other, even my Parents: the beautiful, blinding, light of my Mother’s solar clarity as Eye clashing with the shadows and obfuscation of a Father Who breaks things down to improve upon them. Yet in existing as individuals with individual views and perspectives, They seem capable of, at least to a degree, understanding my struggles to walk a life of both light and dark (albeit on a different, mortal scale.)

I am glad to worship gods of both the light and the dark, grateful not to have to pick between the two. There is strength, and wisdom, in both realms.

In the space that exists between, They meet me and I learn.