Archive for February, 2013

The ancient Egyptian calendar is amazing. It is scientifically measured and absolutely filled with festivals, feasts, processions, celebrations, and holy days. Tamara Siuda, accredited Egyptologist, has provided Kemetic Orthodoxy with a month-by-month calendar for years, and I have used it on a near-daily basis for over a year now. It has informed my practice and intrigued my inner reconstructionist; it has brought me closer to my gods, introduced me to new ones, and given me a broader taste of history and ancient Egyptian religion.

And now that calendar is coming into the world as a book!

This Kickstarter was funded in the first two hours, so it’s already going to happen. We get an ebook, huzzah!

But there’s so much more we could get, too. A coil-bound printed copy. Or even a mobile app. How’s that for insanely freaking useful and awesome?

Please, if you can spare a few dollars, back this project and help us bring even more forms of the the Ancient Egyptian Daybook to the public. I’ve been plugging in each new month’s Kemetic calendar into my Google calendar and synching it to my phone; I cannot tell you how excited I am at the prospect of an actual app to do this in a more efficient and user-friendly manner!

If you can’t afford to back the project, please take a few moments and spread the word. The Daybook is of interest not just to Kemetics, but to anyone who loves or studies ancient Egypt; this is both a spiritual and a historical project, and I can’t wait to see it completed!

The sky turned slate-cloudy, and the world’s breath blew colder as the sun sidled out of sight behind the low horizon. We lit a fire in the hearth, smelling of good smoke and warming our toes. Dinner was simple and satisfying, white fish and red rice, with milk and whole wheat gingerbread after.

Running on a paltry four hours of sleep was enough to drag my love to doze a full three hours before I normally slept, so we retired to the bed. He curled up around me, head pillowed on my shoulder, and our dog circled at his back before thumping down against him and resting her muzzle on his hip.

I pressed my palm to her glossy, warm fur and kissed my love’s forehead as he dreamed.

I am deeply blessed with small moments of sweetness such as these, and I offer my gratitude and adoration to Netjer for each breath.

from the Papyrus Chester Beatty, Stanza 3:

I praise the Golden Goddess, I exalt Her Majesty, I raise the Lady of Heaven up.
I make praise for Hethert-Nut*, and chants for my Mistress.

*orig. Hethert

I wanted to share this because it strikes me as particularly beautiful and devotional, and I want more short and sweet things with which to praise my Mama. ^_^

This post is part of the Kemetic Round Table, a loose organization of various Kemetic bloggers. Our aim is to answer some of the most common beginner questions with our diverse opinions and different levels of experience, providing a wealth of good options for the Kemetic novice to explore.

Quite conveniently, I’d planned this as a D post for the Pagan Blog Project, so it coming up as the second question for the Kemetic Round Table (albeit phrased as “fallow” instead of “dry”) suits me perfectly!

There is an important distinction in the word choice that I’d like to explain before I get to the meat of the post. “Fallow” is an agricultural term, referring to the necessity of letting a field be unplanted on a cyclical basis so the soil isn’t depleted of its vital nutrients; in other words, fallow is a natural and required period of rest in order to avoid burnout. The dry season, on the other hand, is a deliberate reference to drought, which is a lack of the moisture needed to sustain an environment and allow it to flourish.

The Round Table’s chosen term is “fallow,” but in modern polytheism, the term is usually used to indicate a lack—of the perceptible presence of our god(s), of the drive to perform devotions, or of a general sense of spiritual interconnectedness. To me, that describes more of a dry season than a resting period, hence my use of a different word. (However, some of my fellow Kemetics have taken the literal definition of the word “fallow” to write some wonderful things about how necessary it is to attend to self-growth and Seen-world matters during spiritual fallow times, in order to maintain a healthy life balance. I highly recommend reading them!)

Now, semantics settled, what does one do when a dry season strikes? The symptoms frequently include a restlessness, perhaps even anxiety or depression, an apathy towards spiritual or magical activities, and most commonly, an inability to sense or communicate with one’s god(s). We feel a dearth, and that can drive us to extreme upset and doubt, leading us to question if we’re worthy, if we’ve done something wrong, or if this is even the right path. Strongly spiritual people often crave the experience of the Unseen, and in its absence, our metaphorical throats are parched for even a few droplets of blessed rain.

I have experienced a fallow time—a period where I was so occupied with mundane matters, so busy and drained by work, that my spirituality and my gods had to take a back seat, though not by any conscious choice of mine. It was an unavoidable break, and while I didn’t particularly enjoy the necessity, I did understand why it happened and that it would resolve when my Seen-world life stopped being as crazy. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t panic or doubt myself.

And I have also experienced a dry season (or three), particularly with Sekhmet, before I came to Kemetic Orthodoxy. In my experience, Sekhmet does not coddle; She does not respond when I am being insecure and clingy, and She does not have time or patience for my flailing. There have been stretches of time where She did not grace me with Her tangible presence, and I reacted poorly. I tried to cling more tightly; I tried to demand; I constantly questioned if She even wanted me around at all, if I mattered to Her in the slightest. And in the dry times, She did not deign to reply to my silliness.

I had to learn to wait. Worse, I had to learn to be still in my waiting, to be quiet and without assumption. Worst of all, I had to learn to trust.

I already trusted Sekhmet. I trusted Her with my life, my heart. But I did not trust Her to care enough about me to keep me around; I did not trust myself to be worthy of Her continued attentions. And it was hard as hell to slowly realize that all of my noise and caterwauling was for naught, and that the answer was patience and faith. It is still hard as hell; I might understand it intellectually, but grokking it in my spirit and emotional subconscious is a whole other matter entirely.

The thing that most helped me through the dry seasons was also the thing that made it the hardest to bear: I would reread my journals, where I recorded my experiences with Sekhmet and where I sang Her praises. It reminded me of how much I cared, and while that depth of devotion kept me going when She didn’t pick up the godphone, it also made the lack that much more pronounced. It stung, salt in the wounds, even as it sustained.

And I would have thought, once I had other Netjeru in my life, that a dry time with Sekhmet wouldn’t be as intense. Of course, I was wrong. My relationship with each of my gods is completely independent of my relationships with the others, and it hurt no less when Sekhmet was away, even though I had Ma’ahes and Serqet powerfully present in my daily life. They are unique, my Netjeru, and none of Them replaces the other.

I would love to say that I’m good at surviving dry times now, that going through these deserts with Sekhmet has strengthened me, that I am practiced at doing the right things and biding my time. But I’d be lying. The last dry season with Sekhmet ended only a few months ago, and I handled it with all the gracelessness of a rejected cat: cycling through whining, obnoxiousness, false I-don’t-care, resentment, and then quiet sadness. (Those of you who have demanding cats in your life will grok this pattern.) But the drought only lifted when I stopped making noise, when I let go of expectation, when I chose to endure no matter the wait.

And that’s key, I think—not giving up. Not surrendering to the fear, the anxiety, the doubt. Letting go of your expectations is not letting go of hope; it’s realizing you don’t know what’ll happen, but still trusting something will happen, even if you have no idea when.

For myself, I know dry seasons will come on occasion; so will the more necessary and beneficial fallow times. For each, I hope to answer with patience, with an open mind, without assumptions and expectations, and most importantly, with trust—trust that I am worthy, and trust that They love me, even if I can’t feel it in the moment.

If you enjoyed this post, please check out the other takes on what to do during the fallow times by my fellow Round Table bloggers!

I’d been doing really, really well.

Then, last Sunday, it hit. The internal systems-freeze, the molasses of mental shut-down. A numbness of the heart, an inexplicable exhaustion of the spirit.

Of course, I fought it. This is not a new experience for me, and I am well-equipped with a veritable garage of tools. I know how to best stay afloat in the black sea of depression; I’ve gone through the winterly cycle of SAD (seasonal affective disorder) for over a decade. I’m an old hand at the game.

… but nothing worked; nothing helped. I moved like the undead and barely had enough energy to keep breathing and blinking. My partner rose to the occasion like the blessing he is and led me through enough mundane activities to get me to, albeit only a little, reboot and re-engage.

I fumbled for my phone and read interesting things to get my synapses to start firing again. (I read this and this, if you were wondering.) I stared at my hands, and then over at my colorful shrine, then at the dogs who were being obnoxious and cute.

The heavy yoke of SAD and other forms of depression is nothing to sneeze at, invisible as it may be. I consider myself a fairly self-aware and mindful individual with a decent amount of practice in coping with and getting through cyclical depression, and still I am not at all surprised when I get knocked on my ass as I did last weekend. There’s no insta-fix. As capable as I might be sometimes, I am far from immune.

And so, the title of this post has layers: the obvious for literal darkness, the shortened daylight of winter that inspires the body to trip over its own serotonin production and faceplant. I am, in fact, so sensitive to the presence of sunlight that my mood will frequently shift gears after sunset, even in the summer when I’ve soaked in plenty of daytime radiance.

The second layer is the feeling of darkness that accompanies my experience of depression. There is no light, no spaciousness, no clarity. It is heavy and close-pressed and dark, like black velvet layering the air. My headspace is so closely keyed to my physical environment that the external, atmospheric darkness becomes internalized, subconsciously persistent no matter how many paltry indoors lights may be turned on. What helps me partially dispel that internalized darkness are lightbulbs that mimic daylight colors and, most powerfully, a good fire in the hearth.

The third layer, however, is the mythos of the night. And this is where the contradictions arise, the sharp contrast between SAD and my love of nighttime, between my mother goddesses Who are largely nocturnal and my punctual mood-crash after sunset. Nebt-het (Nephthys), a lady of shadows and twilight and the long, quiet nights spent mourning. Hethert-Nut (Hathor-Nuit), the very sky itself at all times of day or night, but most especially that glittering, fathomless expanse of infinite space. These are my Mothers, and I am most assuredly not a bright and burning solar creature… but my health and my heart are yet tied to the sun and its presence, and more mythologically, to two solar deities in particular, each of Whom can take the role of Eye of Ra: Sekhmet and Ma’ahes. Never truer has been the phrase “there is no darkness without a light.”

Depression may not be innately spiritual, but I can’t deny the parallels between my night/day cycles and my affiliations with nighttime and daytime deities. And, while knowing benevolent nighttime gods does not miraculously cure my depression, it does make the weight of darkness a little easier to bear when I know that, just past the closing shadows, there are stars shining.

Last year’s second D post was on Deity.

I am a child of the sky at all times of day and night, of the cool hands of comfort, of the depths of star-flung space, of the mourner and the psychopomp, of long-eyed seeking and high-lifting protection, of the deepest compassion and the most boundless joy. My Mothers, Nebt-het and Hethert-Nut, make more sense to me as divine Parents than I could have ever imagined.

But I have an Other in my life: my Red Lady, beloved Eye of Ra, most brilliant and deadly of Netjeru… Sekhmet. And where my ba (eternal soul) and my deepest nature stem undeniably from my Mothers, my heart and fiercest devotion are laid too at the altar and sand-dusted paws of the Powerful One.

I knew Sekhmet first, you see. She taught me strength and how to create and enforce boundaries. She showed me the necessary balance of contrasts, opposing forces held in dynamic tension to create wholeness. In Her name, I voluntarily undertook challenges that have made me not only a better person, but the very person I am today. It was She Who led me to Kemetic Orthodoxy and to my Mothers (and to my Beloveds, and to my wonderful community of fellow Kemetics).

In essence, Sekhmet has been my surrogate mother, the one Who received all of my adoration and worship, well before I ever “met” the Netjeru Who shaped my soul. And while Sekhmet and I are nearly perfect mirrored opposites, and I am so clearly my Mothers’ child, I am still deeply attached to the Red Lady. In many ways, I consider Her a mother-figure, too. She fills my heart, and I belong to Her, blood and bone.

However, my fervent love for Sekhmet does not lessen my love for my Mothers. My history with Sekhmet does not make trivial my less extensive experience with Nebt-het and Hethert-Nut. Sekhmet is the harmony to Their melody, the blush of warm lighting over a cool-colored backdrop. I am the moon to Her sun, and She is the solar Eye in the celestial house of my Mothers.

This is, to me, a perfect example of what it means to practice polytheism. I do not just believe in many gods; I love many gods. My time, devotion, and worship are multi-track, and while I have unique relationships with each deity in my life, it all comes together to weave one whole tapestry of vivid, fulfilling spirituality.

Hail, Nut!
Lady of Heaven,
She Who stretches over the world
and welcomes the blessed dead
as stars into Her skin.

Hail, Nut!
Glorious One,
She Who consumes Her son, the sun,
and gives birth to Him again
each and every dawn.

Hail, Nut!
Beautiful of Face,
She Who gives us the blessings
of balance, of patience, and of hope
in this Her year.

Dua Nut!

The djed pillar is an emblem of stability and support and is one of the most common symbols of ancient Egypt, after the ankh and the udjat (the Eye of Horus). It has been thought to represent a pillar made from reeds or corn sheaves, a tree, and/or the spine of a bull or of Wesir (Osiris) (Who has been called “the Bull of the West”). As a reed-pillar, it may have been associated with fertility or good harvests; as a tree, it could refer back to any of the sacred trees in a largely treeless nation; and as Wesir’s spine, it harkens to the eternal stability of the dead king’s rule in His kingdom. As an extension of this, the djed pillar can also indicate the strength, stability, and duration of a human king’s reign.

The djed has been linked to three gods: Ptah, craftsman and creator; Sokar, falcon-headed god of darkness; and Wesir, king of the dead. Though its association is primarily with Wesir in modern-day interpretations, one of Ptah’s epithets is “the noble djed,” and He has been shown carrying a staff that combines the djed with an ankh. However, the djed has not only symbolized Wesir’s spine but also Wesir Himself, particularly when shown with eyes and a crook and flail. Early sources also implied that the djed symbol was a pillar holding the sky up, perhaps relating it to Shu, god of wind Who holds His mother Nut, the sky, separate from His father Geb, the earth.

Raising the djed pillar was an important ritual in ancient Egypt, celebrated on different days for different gods, including Ptah, Tem, and Wesir. In particular, a festival called Heb Sed celebrated the continued reign of a Nisut (pharaoh) and symbolically renewed the Nisut, typically once he had reigned for 30 years. Not only did raising the djed pillar link the renewing monarch to Wesir Who was renewed after His death, it also symbolized the triumph of the forces of order or ma’at over the forces of chaos or isfet. Though Set cut His brother down, Wesir was reestablished as king, and Wesir’s son Heru-sa-Aset (Horus the Younger) took His place as king over the living gods; so, too, would the Nisut establish himself as rightful king over all rebels and adversaries.

In funerary settings, djed amulets were commonly placed around a mummy’s neck to lend the deceased the power to sit up like Wesir could. Djed pillars were often painted on coffins and other areas of the tomb, including literal pillars, as both symbol of support and a direct link to Wesir and His successful resurrection. Where the ankh symbolized life, the djed could partner with it to symbolize the journey of the dead through the Duat and into Wesir’s kingdom.

In modern Kemeticism, the djed can be an inspiring symbol of our own strength, support, and foundation, both in our lives and in our spiritual practices, as well as an emblem of rebirth and regeneration. Contemplating what comprises our own djeds and how we can raise the djed for ourselves – in jubilation, in renewal, in reaffirmed stability – can be both a moving and pragmatic exercise to continue to grow and develop along our chosen paths.

Sources:

• Symbol & Magic in Egyptian Art (Richard Wilkinson)
• Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt (Geraldine Pinch)
• The Kemetic Orthodoxy Calendar (Tamara Siuda)

Last year’s first D post was on the desert.

On Wednesday, February 6, 2013, I took vows to become a Shemsu of Kemetic Orthodoxy, along with my sister and a son of Ra-Heruakhety.

A Shemsu, or “follower,” is a sworn devotee of Kemetic Orthodoxy; in antiquity, the term was used to describe “a member of the Kemetic court, sworn to serve the nation as a ‘follower of the royal household,'” as per Kemet.org. The Shemsu vows are pretty simple, once boiled down: to honor the gods of Kemet firstly (not exclusively, mind) and to explore the meanings of one’s Shemsu name. (There are also expectations of good character, primarily around a charge to uphold ma’at in one’s life, and to participate in the Kemetic Orthodoxy community, but those are more general and not explicitly part of the vows.)

The Kemetic name is bestowed upon each new Shemsu by their Parent deity/ies; Hemet, leader of Kemetic Orthodoxy, divines the Shemsu name and its meaning. A new Shemsu receives their name and takes their vows at the same time during a communal naming ceremony, which is a public celebration of the Shemsu’s devotion, as well as an initiatory experience.

My Shemsu name is Itenumuti, which means “Mystery of My Two Mothers,” itnw being ‘mystery’ and mwt being ‘mother.’ My nickname is Tenu, which is what I’ll be going by from here on out.

Much like when I was divined a child of Nebt-het and Hethert-Nut, those closest to me grokked the appropriateness of my name before I did. It took me a few hours of pondering, and a lot of conversation with my sister and my (non-Kemetic but still brilliant) partner, before I felt the first shivery bolt of understanding.

The mystery of my Mothers is one of unconditional love, deep and raw compassion, strong and steadfast protection, and comfort during grief and vulnerability. These are some of the qualities They embody and emanate; these are some of the qualities I am most engaged in practicing myself. Of course I am named after Their mystery which I strive to understand and integrate into my own life and self.

But there was another insight, a deeper reverberation of that understanding. My name can also imply that I am the Mystery myself, too. That I am, perhaps, not only a student of my Mothers’ wisdoms, but also a piece of Their essence. And perhaps, when people quest to understand those mysteries— in the same way that I now quest to understand the secrets and meanings of my Shemsu name— perhaps I can engage with those truth-seekers, those veil-lifters, and offer them what insight and experience I have. And perhaps that will heighten and deepen their own understanding, and the hard-won qualities of compassion and joy will be less mysterious, less distant, to them.

For me, knowing only these two potential interpretations of my name, I am deeply honored and content.

Dua Nebt-het! Dua Hethert-Nut!

PS~ It’s common practice to investigate alternate meanings and puns to one’s name as part of exploring the layers and “secrets” of the name. Not only does itnw mean “mystery” (or riddle or obscurity), it can also mean sun disks, crack in the wall, ashes, one who is complained about, and… fluffy. (That’s right, I am my Mothers’ fluffy. *laugh*) I’m also extremely pleased that the “sun disks” definition can relate to Sekhmet and Ma’ahes both being the sun as an Eye of Ra.

PPS~ Meanings for my nickname, Tenu (tnw) include boundary mark, number / to count, distinction / refinement / honor, to be difficult, senility, to grow up, and to lift up / to promote. Quite a few of these are personally significant: boundary mark relating to Sphinx who guards sacred spaces, to grow up relating to maturing in my spirituality, and to lift up relating to Hethert-Nut lifting Ra upon Her head into the sky. (Of course, I can also be difficult and often feel like I’m a wee bit senile, so it’s not just the wonderful meanings like “an honor” that ring true! ;D)

In January, I decided I wanted to do a post here every Wednesday. When I remembered that PBP was A Thing, I chose to keep my original intention and add the Friday post to the plan. To date, I’ve actually done rather well, missing only one post this last Wednesday (I have been sick all week and Wednesday was a Very Special Day, which is another post entirely!). Not bad!

Consistency, such as that demonstrated by my regular posts here, is one of my biggest challenges… and one of the most important qualities that I want to build within myself and my spiritual practice. For myself, I am not satisfied with occasional glimpses of the divine and once-in-a-while brushes with my gods. I am not satisfied to only show up, in full presence of mind, to shrine every now and then. I want more from myself, and I want more from my spirituality, than just that – and if I want to get it, I’ve got to give it first. (Which, in the interest of full disclosure, is insanely difficult.)

And spirituality isn’t the only realm in which I’m learning the value of consistency and putting it into practice. How often have we heard the statement that practicing something consistently for a short time each day is more beneficial and effective than practicing for a longer time once or twice each week? While it’s important to factor in rest periods for recovery, whether to let muscles repair themselves or to let knowledge gained really sink in, the method of steady, gradual progress really does win the day in many cases.

All of this, of course, I only apply myself. I most certainly cannot tell anyone else whether it’s better to touch base with their gods daily or to dedicate larger portions of time less regularly; what works for me will undoubtedly not work for everyone ever. And in some cases, it’s simply more practical to reserve a healthy amount of time less often in order to really get what you want out of the experience. As always, to each their own, and it’s worthwhile to experiment and see what rhythm best suits you and your faith. Some gods may want maximum quality and be willing to wait; others may want to see us every day, regardless of how awesome we may be feeling at the time.

For myself, I really want to incorporate more consistency into my life, and writing regularly here (and on my creative blog) is my first step. I am a pretty speedy writer, and writing helps me organize my thoughts, stumble over new insights, and record what’s happening more faithfully than my fallible human memory… but, more importantly than all of that, writing makes me think. And if I want to be more consistent in my spirituality, the first step for me is to think, consistently, about what I believe and how I practice.

Last year’s second C post was on chaos magic.

This post is the first of many I intend to make as part of the Kemetic Round Table, a loose organization of various Kemetic bloggers. Our aim is to answer some of the most common beginner questions with our diverse opinions and different levels of experience, providing a wealth of good options for the Kemetic novice to explore. For more information on the Kemetic Round Table, please take a look over here!

As many other Kemetics have noticed, ritual purity – and what exactly one does to purify oneself – is rife with personal interpretations and has an immense variety of possibilities. To each their own, says I, but that statement alone would make for an awfully short post! So I would like to share my own practices and takes on purity, with a respectful nod to the fact that what was done in antiquity by a dedicated priest-force may not be feasible or necessary for a singular domestic Kemetic. One of the lovely things about being a soft reconstructionist is being able to choose what still works from antiquity, adapt what else might work, and leave the rest lie with the old ones. And ultimately, there are two primary components to purification to consider: physical cleansing, and mental-emotional-spiritual clearing and focusing.

While ancient Egyptians purified themselves a variety of strictly regulated ways, including avoiding certain foods, shaving all hair, wearing only plant products, and extensive purification with water and/or natron, modern Kemetics enjoy a very sanitized lifestyle within finely controlled environments. In most cases, our modern hygiene products are perfectly sufficient for the physical requirements of cleanliness, and our food and water are sanitary and safe for consumption with minimal effort. To be sure, natron or salt has historical, as well as spiritual, properties that make it a wonderful addition to purifications, especially for the more reconstructionist-oriented Kemetics. And, of course, if participating in group or temple rites that have specific requirements for purity, one should do one’s best to observe those. Still, for most solitary work, we find that our standard hygiene will take care of the physical needs of purification.

However, for the purposes of purifying one’s mind and spirit and focusing for the ritual… The best thing I can say is to find what works for you and go with it. Some Kemetics avoid certain foods; many avoid animal products; many also avoid being in shrine or touching their altar while sick, injured, menstruating, or deeply distraught. Some strive to emulate the high standards for priest purifications from ancient Egypt; others are content if they don’t have fresh oil stains on their jeans. Wear only linen, or wear clean white clothes, or wear clean clothes, or wear what you’re wearing and have worn all day. Bathe first, shower first, or just dust off. It’s between you and your gods in the end; you enter shrine to be with Them, and if you and They are fine with grass stains and cat hairs, then there’s no reason not to go with that! (Note the emphasis on you being happy with your level of cleanliness/purity; if it doesn’t work for you, don’t settle for it. Likewise, some gods seem to be more attentive to purifying than others and may have higher standards.)

For myself, I am Kemetic Orthodox, and I do perform and attend rituals and celebrations that require a minimum purity. In brief, this entails blessing natron and water and rinsing oneself with it, full-body at best and mouth/orifices at least, and being in a generally high state of physical and mental health. The state rite of senut, in particular, has detailed purification at the beginning, invoking both heka and literal washing to cleanse the body and spirit to prepare for ritual.

While I deeply admire the meanings and depth behind the heka and symbolism employed in senut, I do not perform full-on senut very often. That level of structure and precision is something I personally reserve for Big Things; I can’t maintain it on a daily basis without stressing unduly or developing an avoidance. I am a working-overtime polymath with finite energy and time, and I do my best to both perform with quality and to keep my practices efficient and effective… so I optimize!

I have developed a comfortable form of on-the-fly quick purification, inspired by some of senut’s guidelines. In particular, before going into shrine at all or before creating (painting, in particular) for or with Netjer/u, I will wash my hands with soap. I repeat “I am pure” four times as I do so, once while rubbing my palms together, once with one palm over the back of the opposite hand, again with the bottom hand on top, and once more with palms together again. It takes less than thirty seconds and helps get me in the mindset of being clean-handed and ready to touch important objects… as well as takes care of the practical, mundane parts of purification. In addition, depending on what I’m doing, I’ll also brush my teeth or use mouthwash beforehand, to make sure my mouth is clean and prepared to speak heka.

For taboos or common impurities, as briefly mentioned at the beginning of this post, my own background in eclectic paganism has created a certain lenience. In particular, I see nothing “unclean” or impure about menstruation, provided it is not a physical or mental distraction in shrine, and I don’t consider it a bad thing to show up in shrine if one is deeply upset, provided one has enough presence of mind to remain safe with candles. Many folks struggle with purity standards being a measuring stick of worthiness to come before the gods, and those in particular are two areas where one’s self-esteem can nosedive all too easily. Women who are menstruating are not impure in my eyes; people who are depressed, anxious, or grieving are not impure. While I certainly understand and respect the attitude of bringing one’s best into shrine, before the gods, I am of the viewpoint that the gods already know us at our best and at our worst. If I am sick and sneezing and coughing and wretched, I am unlikely to sit in shrine, but that’s mostly for practical reasons – I’d rather not clean snot off the offering plate! If I am deeply sad, I find comfort and peace, and often release, in the presence of Netjer at my altar.

As I mentioned earlier: to each their own. Rise to the standards that ring right to you and to your gods; respect the requirements of the rite or the temple, if any. Kemeticism is a living practice, and it is not all written on the walls; we can adapt and grow while honoring what was as our foundation and inspiration.

If you enjoyed this post, please check out the other takes on ritual purity by my fellow Round Table bloggers!

Kemet – ancient Egypt – had three seasons: the inundation (Akhet), from August to November, the growing season (Peret), from December to March, and the harvest season (Shomu), from April to July. (This is markedly different from modern Egypt’s seasons, now that the Nile is now controlled; for this post, I am only discussing ancient Egypt and her seasons.)

The Appalachian mountains, where I was born and raised, have four seasons, which are familiar to most North Americans: winter, spring, summer, and fall, all of roughly equal length but for winter, which usually runs a little long and steals time from spring and autumn. All the seasons are fairly wet: plenty of snow in the winter and frequent rains in spring and fall.

Texas, where I currently live, has five seasons, one of which repeats. In order, they are “winter” (almost always snowless), spring, summer, hotter’n hell (temperatures of 100*F+), summer again, and fall.

I’ve also lived in Nevada, which is a high-altitude desert (translation: snowy winters, but dry hot summers), and Colorado, which is between the Appalachians and Nevada in humidity and has fairly normative seasons.

In each place, I find myself adapting to the seasons and, consequentially, to how humans change their indoor habitats to balance out the seasons. (Let me tell you how cold it is in every Texas building in summer; I have to bring my hoodie!) I have, in fact, gotten to the place where there is something I enjoy and value about each season, so I am capable of delighting in the current season while simultaneously pining for the next.

But what about spiritual cycles to match the natural ones around us, and what happens when they don’t match up? After all, as a pagan, I purposefully and subconsciously attune myself to the state of the land that envelopes me.

Yet, as a Kemetic, I follow the ancient Egyptian calendar for Kemetic festivals and holidays. Of course, these festivals match up to Kemet’s three seasons and all the associations thereof. When we plant our Appalachian farms, Kemet is harvesting crops. When I am praying for snow in a tepid Texas winter, Kemet’s banks are flowering greenly. When I am awash in suffocating temperatures and near-nightly epic thunderstorms, Kemet holds her dry breath, waiting for the Nile to flood and bless the land.

Contradictions much?

Before I was a Kemetic, my spiritual-seasonal cycle was simpler. The forest, the desert, the mountains, the endless sky– the varying temperatures and humidities and precipitation– I feel them, I grok them, and some pieces of my body and spirit shift and lean to match. It is an organic thing, an instinctive thing, a reflexive thing – a dance that I find hard to describe in words, other than to say this human animal has not forgotten its place in the natural world and can still feel the rightness of living immersively.

But what a challenge, to feel my flesh and psyche adjust to and accommodate the season around me, yet knowing that my chosen faith is experiencing a wholly different season and set of associations to match! To make it even more interesting, the Kemetic calendar does include lunar cycles and solstices, making my beloved Yule still important and valid… even if it’s the beginning of the growing season for ancient Egypt when I celebrate it.

So how can I knit the seasons of the land with the seasons of my Kemetic spirit? The Nile would flood, bringing life to the land, as Texas reaches its peak heat, driving everyone indoors to avoid heatstroke. Ancient Egyptians would begin planting their fertile fields as we enter into the winter holiday season, whose snowy scenery is iconic. The Kemetic harvest coincides with this land enthusiastically flowering and warming. What connections can I draw between my home and my faith’s homeland?

Well, with the Texas summer comes a bevy of thunderstorms, and in thunderstorms, as in the overwhelming humid heat, I find Ma’ahes. Texas is drenched from the sky as ancient Egypt was drenched by the Nile, and both lands are bathed clean, refreshed, renewed. And Ma’ahes is in the torrential storms as He is in the dry orange desert, a divine link between greening Texas and the flooded Black Land.

When the Kemetic growing season rolls around, my sun has died at Samhain, and I am preparing to welcome back the light at winter solstice and, hopefully, spend a lot of time with family and loved ones. As my body and the local land settle closer to hibernation, breathing softly in tandem, my heart and Kemet are receptive to new life. It is not so hard to conflate the beginning of winter’s quiet with a spiritual growth, the chilly stillness with sowing sacred seeds.

And lastly, I reap the fruits of my long winter after the first light of spring – taking stock of what I have done, created, and learned during the quiet time of colder weather and processing it appropriately. Harvesting, sorting, and storing the new in preparation for the cleansing of the inundation, of the Texas summer storms, of Ma’ahes’ peak presence.

Come inundation is the Kemetic new year, Wep Ronpet in early August; the world is licked clean by Nile and sky, ready for the hopes and intentions of a new cycle. And so it begins again, this strange waltz of Kemetic soul and North American soil.

Last year’s first C post was on Cernunnos.