December 13, 2010
Posted in Stalking Beauty, Thoughts and Reflections
at 10:09 pm
by Shefyt
After yesterday’s rain-washed mild temperatures, today proved to be windy and surprisingly cold when I went out at lunchtime. I picked up soup to bring back with me, then decided to detour to the flower shop to find something for my desk, as it had been far too long since I’d had flowers.
Afterward, walking back to the office carrying three bright yellow Gerber daisies, I felt as though I was carrying warmth with me, tucked into the crook of my arm. A trace of fleeting sunlight flickered through wind-thinned clouds, gilding the bare trees and turning the remaining dry, brown leaves to bronze — and warmer than the sun, the heat of awareness, the delight in beauty, an inner fire of enthusiasm that feels life’s echo everywhere, even when the world might so easily be mistaken for a frost-gnawed, barren shell. The heart, already lifted, leaps! And the dance goes on.
Tomorrow begins my annual observance of the Ten Days of Joy that lead up to and include the Festival of Bast Guards the Two Lands. But it’s good to be reminded that joy can be found at any time, in even the simplest things, and that every day has the potential to be special — today, now, and always.
Dua Bast, Mistress of Joy! Nekhtet!
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November 14, 2010
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections
at 9:48 pm
by Shefyt
Tonight in shrine, I had the strangest sense of a strong current flowing outward from the naos cabinet, like a river or a warm wind: a ceaseless, heart-catching tide of beauty. And it occurred to me that this is a way to orient oneself in a spiritual journey — that steadily facing into that stream and moving forward ultimately leads to the source. Not that it’s necessarily easy; it calls for patience, an even rhythm, tacking to ride the wind when its direction permits and otherwise moving forward in slow, regular increments of effort.
In other words, Mama says, Keep paddling.
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November 10, 2010
Posted in Creative Fire, On Writing, Thoughts and Reflections
at 9:46 pm
by Shefyt
A briefly golden morning, the sun slanting upward through a narrow gap in the overcast east to emblaze hilltops, thinning cloud trails, the highest branches of the trees. A lotus-light, fleeting and magical.
Last month I wrote my fiftieth song for the Netjeru.* I’m still a little incredulous at this, considering that I’d never imagined I would be writing songs at all. And it was for Amun-Ra, who started the whole thing nearly four years ago, as I knelt before His shrine and wondered aloud what special service I could do for Him. Sing! He told me emphatically, and from that moment, that first awkward, self-conscious rendition of the House of Netjer classic “Ankh, Ujda, Seneb,” which was the only vaguely appropriate song that I knew at the time, has somehow arisen a whole repertoire of songs for many different Gods and festivals.
The sources of creativity are certainly mysterious! But it makes perfect sense that it would be Amun-Ra who set me on this path. As the syncretism of Amun and Ra, He’s always seemed to me an embodiment — an en-God-ment? — of the creative process itself, the journey that extends from the Hidden to the Manifest, from the first leaping electricity of connection and inspiration to the particular luminosity of the finished work. And now that I’ve been reminded of this, I plan to offer my nonmusical writing projects to Him and to seek His help in getting those off the ground as well.
Dua Amun-Ra, Lord of the Hidden Wind, Lord of the Radiant Sun! May You bless all the works of my mind and imagination!
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Photo of my Amun-Ra shrine, with the statue featuring the new plumes that I *finally* made for Him this past summer (detail; click photo for the full shrine.).
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* And in the time it’s taken me to get around to writing this post, I’m already up to song #53. Note to self: Life does not stand still and wait for you to blog about it.
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November 8, 2010
Posted in Thoughts and Reflections
at 8:34 pm
by Shefyt
A night of stars, multitudinous and bright in the clear, edge-of-winter sky, with the new moon’s crescent long set — a morning of soft, cloud-swirled sky, of white dandelion seedheads above the frosted grass. Early today, on the drive to work, the veiled sun shone through a curtain of thinning leaves, stirred by the wind into a rippling shimmer like light on water; later, the clouds came in for real, a low, muffling, pale gray blanket, bringing with them the rain. The last month of the Inundation is upon us, the final sweeping-clear before we settle into the dark, inward-focused season of Growing. Soon the Mysteries of Wesir will take place, the lamentations for the slain God Who becomes Lord of the Duat, the Otherworld that receives both the Night Boat of the Ra and the souls of the dead.
My housemate and I have been letting go of unneeded things — threadbare socks, cassette tapes too long unlistened to, more yarn than anyone knows what to do with — and preparing for the much-anticipated bathroom remodel to finally take place. A time of inventory, I suppose. What kind of space do we need to make in our lives? What do we need to carry forward with us? Who will we be when we emerge with the seeds in spring — more to the point, who are we right now, and what potential lies curled within us? How do we live out our becoming every day, in every moment of zep tepi?
Sometimes I find myself caught between identities, wishing for just a single focus: to give myself entirely to being a writer, or to the priest work, or simply to the needs of living and tending my home. But whenever I try to set myself to sweep everything away but that one focus, to clear the ground, I can’t seem to let go of the rest. So out of the great flood of life I catch a gleam of words, a riffle of Presence, a water-smoothed pebble for the garden. Is it enough? I’m not quite sure. But I think that it may have to be.
One of my temple goals for the last couple of months has been forgiveness — forgiveness whenever I’m made iritated or impatient by something, and primarily forgiveness for myself, all those times when I rage against myself for not accomplishing more, for being held back by fear or uncertainty, distraction or confusion. Rage is good at tearing down, but not so adept at fitting together. Forgiveness, then; a breath of patience, a moment of stillness, before I return to stringing together these varied, many-colored beads of my days.
O Netjer, show me how to assemble my pieces. May I be whole.
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October 7, 2010
Posted in The Wild Sky, Thoughts and Reflections
at 9:09 pm
by Shefyt
Today was such a beautiful day, I decided to take the back way home. I love that moment when I make the turn from the main road, and suddenly the sky opens up wide above the trees and the roadside weeds. The clouds sit seemingly motionless, suspended in the sky, like some perfect cloud-tableau. I can imagine how they might feel underneath my hands, cool, silken-wet, evanescent, and I’m a little bit high, driving with my head in the clouds, or the clouds in my head. All the traffic falls away before and behind me, and there’s just me and the road as it bends with the winding river, pale sunlight streaking the pavement, falling in between the trees, the floodplain grasses rippling delicately, shimmering, and the sky almost too real overhead.
Someday peak oil, or old age, or any of a hundred other changes in life circumstances may make this drive unthinkable, a dream of a vanished past. But in the moment, none of that matters — only the light and the movement and the ecstasy of the endless reaches of the air. And maybe in some way that moment, remembered, will live forever — somewhere in djet, eternal time, I’ll forever be taking that curve toward the river under the brilliant sky of an autumn afternoon.
O Heru, You of the restored Eye, may You spread Your cloud-painted wings out over us. May we live in freedom and wholeness, forever and ever.
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October 5, 2010
Posted in Creative Fire, Thoughts and Reflections
at 8:28 pm
by Shefyt
I’ve been working on a new song for Bast, which involves a lengthy process of singing the tune over and over and over while trying to come up with the words. Last night, as I was getting changed at the gym, one of the other women in the locker room commented to me, “You must be having a good day.” I gave her a blank look, and she added, “You’re singing.”
Embarrassed, I apologized — I had thought I was singing inaudibly under my breath — but she shook her head. “No,” she said, “it’s good to see somebody being happy. My mother always used to say that you couldn’t be unhappy if you were singing.”
And maybe that’s not strictly true — it’s possible to work any mood, even negative ones, deeper and more intense by singing the appropriate songs — but in a way it is. When the music comes up spontaneously, when the singing is for the song’s sake, I think there must inevitably be joy in it, the heart lifting with the breath, taking flight. I often find that the songs are a bellweather for my mental state; when they arise, I know that I’m on the right track. And I find that singing them lightens my spirit, dispersing sadness and oppression. No wonder then that the Gods love music so very much.
O Netjer, may You be pleased with my offering: the music of praise and the heart that leaps up in delight and love.
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August 22, 2010
Posted in The Wild Sky, Thoughts and Reflections
at 9:40 pm
by Shefyt
Rain all day today, drenching at times, so for the most part I did indoor things: dusting and vacuuming the shrine room, making my weekly offerings, catching up on the House boards and reorganizing my email accounts. A good day, a gentle day — not the most productive ever, but peaceful. Among other things, I finally set up my shrine to the God of the season, Ra, which was long overdue.
In the late afternoon, though the rain kept on unabated, the sun came out, a transfiguring golden light washing over everything, filtered through the watery air. The photo does no justice to it, that heart-stopping luminosity like a glimpse of another, transcendent world, although you can catch a trace of the mystery: the mist, the shimmering rain drops, the sun dazzling through the curtain of trees in the west.
The candles glow in the shrine room; born from the flood, Ra burns with a soft, numinous flame; and my year of beginnings is finally ready to begin.
Dua Ra! O Shining One, hail and praise to You!
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August 12, 2010
Posted in Festivals, Thoughts and Reflections
at 8:47 pm
by Shefyt
Today: the smell of rain on hot pavement, a blissful breath of cooler air, the hope that this long, sweltering summer might finally be drawing to a close. The House of Netjer’s New Year celebration was last week, so we’ve just entered the season of the Inundation, the rising of the great river, when a fresh surge of energy sweeps through the world and everything is washed clean and made new. Each year the House receives an oracle from Aset that provides a sort of theme for the upcoming year and also names the God or Gods Who is over that year and receives special offerings and prayers. This year is the year of Zep Tepi, the first time — the instant of creation — which belongs to all of the Gods and none of the Gods, but to make things easier for our poor human brains each season has been declared to be under the auspices of a single divinity: Ra for the first season, Mut for the second, and Mehet Weret, the cow-goddess Who embodies the primordial waters, for the third. And so the year goes from flood to flood, a perfect circle.
May it be a good year, this year of Zep Tepi, filled with prosperity and power and love. And may it bring renewal beyond anything we’ve ever dreamed of.
Di wep ronpet nofret! Nekhtet!
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May 4, 2010
Posted in Poetry and Prayers, Stalking Beauty, Thoughts and Reflections
at 11:35 am
by Shefyt
Hard rain yesterday, although fortunately it had eased off each time I had to go outside; a hard month last month, although not as hard as it was last year at this time. I don’t know why I tend to go off the rails in April. Maybe it’s all that energy, pushing outward to grow, to bloom, that exacerbates my tendencies toward anxiety and overwhelm and leaves me not knowing what to do with myself, with my life.
At any rate, here we are in May, and it’s the beginning of a new Kemetic month as well — the second month of the season of Shomu, the season of heat and harvesting. Only three more months until New Year and Retreat. Soon I’ll start going through my journal for the last year, looking at the patterns, the questions asked and the answers that I may have received without even realizing it.
What does it mean, to live? That question was posed to me the other day by Nefertem, god of the unfolding lotus blossom, lord of perfumes. Of the Seven Arrows of Bast, He’s the one I’ve struggled the most to feel connected to. So to honor Him, and to try to foster that connection, I’ve begun reading a prayer to Him each morning, the first thing I do when I get out of bed.
Nefertem, You are awakening.
Nefertem, may I awaken.
Nefertem, You are awake.
Nefertem, may I be awake.
Nefertem, You arise.
Nefertem, may I arise.
Nefertem, You go forth into the world in beauty.
Nefertem, may I go forth into the world in beauty.
O great Creator, may I see Your beautiful face.
May I live. May I live. May I live. May I live.
What does it mean when I pray, “May I live”? What am I asking for? Walking through my days, doing my work, praying to my Gods, is there any time when I’m not alive? Or is it just that I forget, closed up breathless inside the shell of myself, tensed against the twin pressures of fear and blooming?
Yesterday and today, I read my prayer for Nefertem. And yesterday and today, the gardenia on my desk at work, which has limped along for the last year with shriveled buds and yellowing leaves, has put forth white flowers, perfuming the air.
Dua Nefertem! Nekhtet!
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April 1, 2010
Posted in Parks and Rivers, Thoughts and Reflections
at 3:21 pm
by Shefyt
My little brook is in full flood after all the rains. I love the waters of spring: the surging, overflowing streams; the springs that nourish the first searingly green new growth; the rainpools swallowing the fields, gray sheets mirroring the sky, their surfaces riffled by the passing winds, and in their depths the submerged grasses and weeds transformed into a strange, half-seen aquatic forest; the tiny rivulets along the roadsides, miniature rivers winding between chunks of broken blacktop, their beds lined with flecks of quartz; the low, drumming murmurs of raindrops on the roof. I even kind of love it when the power goes out, the sump pump fails, and the basement starts to flood, although at the same time I’m likely to be cursing frantically and trying to get the washer and dryer up high enough to save them. (Luckily it hasn’t happened this year, or at any rate not yet.)
It was the wettest March on record in New Jersey, and towns like Bound Brook have been suffering from severe flooding. The power of the waters is definitely something to be respected and not ever taken for granted. We have some finite ability to channel and contain them, to use them for our own needs, but ultimately they’re beyond us, mysterious in their risings and fallings, stunningly powerful in their gathered force. And that wonder and that terror are ultimately a part of their beauty — are inextricable from it.
I grew up playing alongside this little brook, in all seasons and weathers, and later along the larger streams and rivers that it feeds into. I suppose it’s no great surprise (as I’ve said before) that I ended up in a religion where the primal waters and the yearly cycle of the great River’s inundation and subsiding are so central. Even “my” Bast has a strongly riparian presence: Lady of the Pool, of the riverbank, the shimmer of sunlight on the ripples, the low chuckle of the waterfall. And maybe there’s a lesson to be learned in the many faces of the waters: to see how anxiety and exultation, joy and sorrow are different aspects of the same emotional energy, the same inner tide. And to understand that only by acknowledging their interplay and by owning both can I truly know the depths of my own heart.
O Netjer, may I walk in a world where Your shining waters bring life and transformation. And may I dare the dregs of sorrow in order to drink deeply of beauty and joy.
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Afterward, walking back to the office carrying three bright yellow Gerber daisies, I felt as though I was carrying warmth with me, tucked into the crook of my arm. A trace of fleeting sunlight flickered through wind-thinned clouds, gilding the bare trees and turning the remaining dry, brown leaves to bronze — and warmer than the sun, the heat of awareness, the delight in beauty, an inner fire of enthusiasm that feels life’s echo everywhere, even when the world might so easily be mistaken for a frost-gnawed, barren shell. The heart, already lifted, leaps! And the dance goes on.
