I am a snake shedding her skin leaving black scales in her wake.
I rose to the sun seeping over the hill, orange and pink at the horizon slipping into blue and black with a few brazen stars shining their light.
A candle was lit to Meretseger. It sputtered and hissed and extinguished. Only a new, virgin candle is good enough for Her, to sit before the cobra’s head, to honour the desert silence She brings.
I am minded of secrets told to me this year. Three people sharing secrets from secret teachers at secret organisations; the papers passed to me in a hush with reverence. My stomach tight in anticipation … the deflation of a balloon with a hidden hole, not quite >pop< more >hiss< and >sigh< when I realise that I have read these secrets before and nothing is new to me. I wonder if the secret ministers of the hush-hush organisations have heard of the internet …
Then mundane life hits me round the head like a frozen trout. I am angry and reeling at the potential financial insecurity this heralds. Whose job is safe in these rocky times? Like a minor tremor on the other side of the globe, a customer has a applied price pressure and the pressure is passed on in industrial Chinese Whispers, building and growing, until it crashes over me in a tidal wave of existential anxiety.
Such is life. Such is a Monday morning that feels like a Friday because I have worked through the weekend again. When I lived in Israel, the weekend was Friday afternoon and Saturday. No lazy Sunday mornings, instead I had awkward outings on Saturday juggling Shabbat public transport and eating at Goy restaurants that were the only jabbering waterholes open in the dusty echoing streets of a Shabbat day. Beit She’an: the flirtatious French archaeologist who showed me how to chip away at a marble column and marvel at mosaic tiles … my schoolgirl French going a long way to fill in the gaps of the blown kiss, the beckoning hand of communication.
So, now I must turn to the melting trout in my lap and see if I can turn it into some kind of meal. To be fed or to starve? Tomorrow at least, when I am fed by TGW, I shall be satiated on multiple levels… To be filled for others to suck me dry? Just try. I am wearing the reverse head of Sekhmet today …
In the Beginning there was Nothing; and the Nothing had a Voice and spoke my Name.
My Ren (name) came into being and dwelt with Nothing, until Nothing spat and breathed upon the void and I was not alone.
The water moved and a serpent arose. Typhon, the chaos demon, swam and split the waters.
Then I knew fear, and fear was my Sekhem (immortal power).
The waters shifted and there arose the primeval hill: my Khu (immortal light of the mind) flew from the darkness and was a Light resting upon the hill.
I was before Atum, but Atum knew me.
I was before Atum, and I proceed through him.
I hold the darkness in my mortal Ba (heart) and Typhon protects my mortality so that my Khu may fly freely over the waters and rest at will in the hands of Atum; there, my immortal parts shall merge: my Ren, my Sekhem, my Khu, and I shall become the first Sunrise.