Archive for the ‘Pagan Blog Project 2013’ Category
Nebt-het comes in a cloud of lavender, pale grey-toned amethyst fog against a dark background of shadow-black. Hethert-Nut is a royal purple nebulae, glistening with silver stars like a full-color page out of National Geographic: full of wonder and heart-wrenching potential and staggering beauty.
Ma’ahes is thick, opaque paint, still shining wet and fresh, the deep orange color of a long sunset. Serqet is desert sunlight shining off a matte sand-yellow carapace.
Sekhmet is hearth-red, ember-red, the red you see when you close your eyes, the color of blood in the bellies of thunderclouds.
I perceive the gods with such specific, visceral colors because I’m synesthetic; every sound, physical sensation, and scent internally translates to a visual color, shape, and/or motion. This is a constant, consistent, and involuntary process for me; other synesthetes may associate colors with numbers and/or letters or personalities with numbers and/or months, to name some common types of synesthesia. For myself, I suspect my other senses barged in on my visual cortex when my vision began deteriorating badly enough to need the assistance; if I couldn’t wear contacts or glasses, I’d be legally blind. Sight is an interestingly propped-up sense to me, full of supplements and quirks.
Turns out that my sensory crossed wires affect my spiritual perceptions, as well, which is why my gods are not faces or voices or even shapes to me, but floods of rich, textured color. The first time I ever heard Hethert-Nut’s name, well before I knew Who She was, let alone that She was my spiritual Mother, I saw Her color; that’s what spurred me to learn about Her in the first place. Every time I call upon Ma’ahes, He appears in color, and that color feels like Him more than anything in the world. Gods with Whom I only occasionally interact also have strong colors: Set, Wepwawet, Yinepu, Heru-wer, Ptah, and now Bast and Sepa as well.
This is how I paint. This is how I design, how I dress, how I work heka, and how I mix scented oils. Everything translates into color, and every single color has a wealth of meaning that can include symbolism, character, and pure feeling. It’s all a loop, a spiral, a fractal sensory experience that can drown me in an ocean of colored inks.
I stayed up until 3 AM reading a novel that I simply could not put down, even though I had to wake up at 7h30 for work. It was a concession I made to my infatuation with the book, which was an urban fantasy featuring libriomancers–people who used books to power their magic. A libriomancer could reach a hand through the pages of a well-loved paperback, using the power of the collective belief of those who’d read it, and draw out anything that would fit between the pages.
The main character is, in part, so likable and enjoyable because he’s a lot like me and many of my friends: geeky, excitable, and prone to feeling awe at figuring out how things work, especially magically. And although I can’t sink my fingers into Tolkien and draw out the One Ring, I can certainly relate to the love and passion that character has for the stories he uses–which he adored before he learned how to do magic with the books.
In many ways, the concepts offered up by that fictional story aren’t so far from the truth for many of us. Reconstructionists, neopagans, and chaos magicians can all draw magic out of the book in their hands, even if it’s not physically manifest. Our subjective reality changes when we read, whether it’s fiction or nonfiction or a little of both. The world shifts around us as our minds project the scenery we read onto our own surroundings, creating our own little holodeck for as long as our eyes are on the page–and often long afterwards.
I finally put the book down, 70% finished, because I knew sleep had to happen for me to function the next day at work. I was buzzing with energy, unhinged through a combination of tiredness and excitement over the story. I didn’t drift off until 4, and I tossed and turned until 5 before I finally settled down for a couple of hours of more restful sleep.
Especially for those who do any kind of energywork, reading can feel like unlocking oneself. In losing myself to the book, in the act of fully imagining everything I was reading, I created an energetic echo of the fiction and put myself in the center of the hologram. The illusion faded when I closed the book, but my body didn’t automatically re-seal and re-shield itself; it remained loose, stimulated, tendrils of half-directed intent swirling about and seeking to paint with invisible colors.
That’s pretty “woo” for a reconstructionist, but I have a decade or more of history working with energy and color, and my imagination is well- and fully-formed from being a writer and artist since I was a child. A fictional story about magic being drawn from fiction has let me draw magic into my world, this very real and strange and wonderful world where I worship ancient gods and work magic with the power of my words and with colors that only I can see.
Like the character in those books, I’ve always wished magic was real–and like that character, I found out that it is, in many ways, as real as breath and sparking synapses. And with all the consequences, with all the challenges, with all the “am I nutters?” self-sanity checks, I still love that my reality is a magical one.
O Raet, molten gold aflame, mighty and beautiful one!
Consort of the Warrior, Name of the Punisher,
Wet-nurse of the Creatrix, Mother of the New Sun!
Raet, Who wears the uraeus with Her feathers,
You are Queen of the Two Lands, united and whole!
O Raet, Who brings illumination to the Seen world,
You are the globe of the sun in the heavens!
You are preeminent in Your place, second to none,
older than the First One, the bud of the birthing lotus!
Your glory is the color of sunlight,
Your protective wrath is as red as sunset!
O Raet, shine upon us, warm us as a mother to Her child,
and we will flourish under Your unblinking Eye!
Raet (Rait, Raettawy) is the female Ra, associated with sovereignty by Hatshepsut. She is alternately a consort of Montu, mother of Djehuty (Thoth), wet-nurse of Nit (Neith), mother of Heru (Horus), consort of the sun god Ra, the Eye of Ra, and/or Ra’s daughter.
Qebshenef is one of the Four Sons of Heru (Horus), a group of netjeri (spirits) associated with the canopic jars that hold the organs of the mummified deceased. The Four Sons also protect the throne of Wesir (Osiris) in the Unseen and assist the deceased through the Duat. Each of the Sons is protected by one of the funerary goddesses and associated with one of the cardinal directions.
Qebshenef, whose name means “cooling his brother (with water),” is hawk-headed and holds the intestines. He is guarded by Serqet (Selkis), the scorpion goddess, and associated with the south.
Imset, whose name means “the kindly one,” is human-headed and wears the nemes headcloth. He holds the liver, is guarded by Aset (Isis), and is associated with the west.
Duamutef, whose name means “praising his mother,” is jackal-headed and holds the stomach. He is guarded by Nit (Neith), the Great He-She, and associated with the north.
Hapy (not Hapi, god of the Nile), whose name means “runner,” is baboon-headed and holds the lungs. He is guarded by Nebt-het (Nephthys) and associated with the east.
While the Four Sons have the above associations in regards to their canopic jars, they also assist the deceased in different ways, including carrying or lifting up the deceased, preparing a ladder into the sky, protecting against attacks and decay, preventing hunger and thirst, bringing the deceased a boat “which Khnum built,” and steering that boat.
The Sons themselves are alternatingly stated to be sons of Aset (Isis) and Heru-wer (Horus the Elder) or Khenty-irty (Horus of Khem), but were also implied to be sons of Heru-sa-Aset (Horus the Younger) by virtue of being the grandchildren of Wesir (Osiris). They’ve also been described as the bau (souls) of Pe (a city in Lower Egypt) and Nekhen (a city in Upper Egypt), along with Heru Himself. In various texts, they’re identified as stars near Ursa Major, as emanations of Heru or as Heru’s bau (souls), and as the king’s “children’s children” (the king being as Wesir, Heru’s own father). They’ve also been identified in spells as the hands, arms, fingernails, and/or feet of the deceased or described accompanying the deceased through the Duat.
Henadology’s article is particularly well-fleshed-out and worth further reading, as my entry here merely summarizes the basics of the Four Sons.
Kemetic Orthodox and many other Kemetics employ polyvalent logic, more commonly known as fuzzy logic, to understand and integrate many of ancient Egypt’s myths. Polyvalent logic proposes that true/false is not a binary, a switch to be flipped on or off, but a sliding scale instead—and with that increased vagueness, more than one thing can be true at the same time (even if one is frequently slightly “less” true than the other).
For example, there are half a dozen or more Kemetic creation myths, none of which reference any of the others; rather than choosing one to be the singularly “true” one, they’re all considered to be true. (With the caveat that most Kemetics don’t take them to be literal truths, but metaphorical or symbolic ones.) Similarly, all the gods involved in those myths are all called creator gods, none excluding the others. Nit (Neith), the Great He-She, Who gave birth to the sun and thus created childbirth as well as all of creation, and Khnum, the artisan, Who created Himself in the primordial waters of the Nun and Who shapes each human’s body on His potter’s wheel, are just as much creators as Ptah, the Master Architect, Who made creation from the thoughts in His heart that He spoke aloud. Neither the gods nor Their stories negate each other as true.
This is, in part, because Netjeru are bendy. They flow into each other’s roles. Over time, one can become equated with, syncretized with, or aspected with another. Older gods will get consumed by the popularity of newer gods and fall into obscurity… or They’ll combine, creating an entirely new Netjeru with properties of both. Depending on how you tilt your head, the Horus that you greet may be Heru-wer, the solar warrior and Set’s twin; Heru-sa-Aset, young king and son of Aset (Isis); Heruakhety, of the two horizons; Heru-behdety, the winged disk; Heru-pa-khered, the child; Heru-em-akhet, the divinization of the Giza Sphinx; or others.
I am extraordinarily grateful that Kemeticism supports polyvalent logic, as I have a hard time thinking in true/false binaries myself. I can acknowledge Nit as the Creatrix and Ptah as the Maker of All in the same breath, and neither is false, neither overrides the other. And that fuzzy logic can extend outwards and make room for multiple belief systems in the world, none of them a singular truth and none of them invalidated by the rest. There are many paths we can take, be they spiritual or not, and they are vastly different, and none of them are wrong.
Standard Disclaimer: I do not support paths that promote hatred, unnecessary violence, bigotry, etc. But there are plenty that have a core of love, peace, balance, respect, responsibility, and humility, and those are the ones I write of here.
Tomorrow is Wep Ronpet, the first day of the new Kemetic year, according to the Kemetic Orthodoxy calendar.
Tomorrow, I will rise before dawn, and at 5 am, I will take part in a ritual to welcome the new year and to deflect any dangers it brings. I will perform heka for the Netjeru of the new year.
Sadly, I will not slay pansnakes, but I’m still hoping my (non-Kemetic) partner makes some and kills ’em in my honor. :)
But I will join with my Kemetic siblings and my gods, and I will set goals and make prayers, and I will take that first deep breath of newborn air and smile.
Happy new year to those who celebrate it!
Last year’s P post was primary gods.
I hesitate to write this post. It’s not because I am a Kemetic writing outside my pantheon, but because being a soft reconstructionist has taught me how to respectfully and thoroughly study and research something before (or at least while) I engage with it. And that means I can recognize when I lack that foundational knowledge; I feel like I’m on unsteady ground when so unread.
I have one book on Ifa: The Way of the Orisa by Philip Neimark, an American convert and practitioner of Ifa. This book has a wealth of differences between the singular book I have read on Haitian Vodou (Haitian Vodou by Mambo Chita Tann), which I know is a very well-sourced, academically-solid, and culturally-respectful treatise. Some of these are doubtlessly regional differences—there are several flavors of Yoruban religion, and dialects change the spellings of words and names—but what gives me such pause is that I haven’t read any other books to broaden my horizon on orisa or Ifa. I’ve also learned enough in the years since I bought this book to question the author’s privilege and potential Westernizing spin.
And yet. If I don’t write this post, how can I encourage other polytheists and pagans to write freely and earnestly about their experiences and the mythologies that they enjoy and study, no matter how new they are?
So I am writing, with the neon disclaimer that I’m very aware I have exactly one author’s viewpoint on the subject, and I have no idea how that author compares with others in his field in terms of accuracy versus modern re-interpretation. The reason I am writing is because, however objectively qualitative that author is or is not, his book impressed upon me Olukun/Yemonja, and that impression has lingered, full of seaspray and undertow.
Yemonja/Olukun is an ocean orisa of great might and dual, intertwined natures; some forms of Yoruba-based religions separate the one into two. However, Ifa treats it as one and emphasizes the importance of maintaining this balance of seemingly opposed natures. Yemonja is described as the feminine energy, full of a mother’s nurturing and generosity, the life-giving gifts of the waves, while Olukun is the masculine energy, powerful and volatile, the icy depths of the sea. Together, Yemonja/Olukun is referred to as a she (in the book) but is a dynamic balance between those two genders; I would interpret it as being a third gender as a result, but that’s me.
Being such a Water-child, being drawn to the ocean like a magnet to the north, and being genderqueer… needless to say, this simplified but imagery-rich idea of Yemonja/Olukun appealed to me deeply and viscerally. In fact, I wrote a song called From The Ocean, exploring the angles between this one orisa’s complementary natures. Even now, when I see the myopic weakness of my single-source understanding of this orisa, my emotional-spiritual reaction to it (and, yes, to how the author describes its “children” in the book, which is staggeringly accurate to my own nature) cannot be invalidated by my skeptical intellect.
As an additional point of interest, one aspect of my Mother Nebt-het (Nephthys) is Nit (Neith), a very old hunter-goddess, a creatrix… a Netjeru of the primordial ocean, and the Great He-She. The parallels I can draw between Nit’s epithets and Yemonja/Olukun’s description are… intriguing, to say the least, and bear further meditation.
In closing, I will say that the heart knows the love and the links from blood to brine, even when the brain cannot yet prove the pattern of the chains that bind them so tightly.
Point to a dozen of ancient Egypt’s most famous gods, and I will know Their Kemetic and Greco-Roman names and the basic mythological background of each, as well as Their characteristics and attributes. Tell me it’s one of the big festivals honoring one of those gods, and I will probably shrug and continue on my merry little way with no more than a respectful nod and libation. Tell me it’s the Day of Sepa or the Feast of Menhuy, which was yesterday, and I will go pawing through all my books to learn more.
In other words, I have a thing for obscure gods.
Menhuy (or Menhu, or possibly even Menew) is the Slaughterer. Egyptologist Tamara Siuda describes him as a protective form of Amun, the Hidden One. In Wilkinson’s The Complete Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt, the name Menew is cited as a form of Bes, a popular apotropaic dwarfish deity, still with the meaning of Slaughterer. The main reference I can find to Menhu is of a tomb inscription from the Papyrus of Ani that states “Hidden in form, given of Menhu” is the name of the tomb. Menhu(y) is also referenced in the inscription of Hor-nefer as a falcon-headed god from Esna, which may link Him to Amun Who is in turn linked to Ra-Horuakhety, typically depicted as falcon-headed.
Finding out all of that stoked me, just as doing the initial research on Sepa or on Neper was intriguing and exciting. But the idea of making this post about the Opet Festival (a major celebration of Amun and Mut) didn’t light a fire under me, even though it would have involved the same amount of research. I have very little “connection” to most of the more well-known Netjeru, barring Sekhmet and Nebt-het. On the other hand, I am so enthralled by little-known deities that I have tentatively set up the framework for a year’s worth of research and personal writing on some 70+ obscure Netjeru… which would likely turn into a small book of cited information and modern litanies, hekau, and prayers.
My partner, who holds a biology degree, tells me that there is some small percentage of each population (human and animal alike) that is predisposed to be more drawn to novelty than to familiarity and safety. It helps keep the gene pool fresh and offers a beneficial mutation the opportunity to survive and thrive. Maybe one bird is a bizarre color, but perhaps that color is a better adaptation to its changing surroundings than its species’ usual color, and if another bird is willing to chance its reproductive future on the oddball, a new strain of successful babies can be born and spread that useful gene around. And while I have not had my genome mapped, I can look at myself and at my intense, inexplicable interest in the left-of-center ideas/people/looks/hobbies/etc and see that pattern reflected.
So I love obscure gods. Mainstream deities are challenging to me; I find it difficult to want to connect, with some few exceptions. This goes for plenty of other things in my life, making me something of an unintentional hipster with my insistence on originality and rarity. I also don’t like the spotlight, so I shy away from things with too much attention, lest I also get seen and noticed; that part’s probably an innate (but unnecessary) survival mechanism.
I’m not the only fan of the unknown, of course. Some of my fellow Kemetics pay a lot of attention to lesser-known Names, such as Wenut (a hare goddess) and Benebdjedet (a ram-headed god). I love seeing hidden gods raised up and dusted off; it elicits such a thrill of glee down my spine.
After all, the most widespread gods already have plenty of worshippers and researchers—They don’t need me that much. But if I and my books and my love can make a difference to a little-known Netjeru by offering my time, attention, and words, then I am elated and satisfied.
Neper (also Nepry, Nepri) is an ancient Egyptian god of grain—He is, in fact, the personification of grain and considered to be immanent in it. Often described as the son of Renenutet, a cobra goddess of the harvest, Neper is linked to Hapy, god of the yearly inundation, and to Wesir (Osiris), Who became associated with grain and the fertility of the land as His cult grew in popularity.
He is depicted as a man holding sheaves of wheat, with wheat in His hair, or covered in dots representing wheat or barley. He can also be shown as an infant suckling at Renenutet’s breast or as Hapy-like with an exaggerated belly and breasts to indicate the abundance and fertility inherent in Their aspects.
He is invoked in an apotropaic spell that possibly references a scorpion come from the grain fields or barns:
Oh Nepri-heti, stretch your arm towards it, scratch and drive away what you have brought!
In the Coffin Texts, there’s a particular spell (Spell 330) for becoming Neper, which is one of the rare times a god is said to live and die; the spell covers not only the cyclical death of the grain and the god, but also its/His pseudo-immortality as part of the cycle of life, as the grain feeds humans and animals, and Neper-as-ma’at (“truth” below) feeds the gods:
I live and I die, I am Osiris, I have gone in and out by means of you, I have grown fat through you, I flourish through you, I have fallen through you. I have fallen on my side, the gods live on me. I live and grow as Neper whom the honoured ones cherish, one whom Geb hides, I live and I die, for I am emmer, and I will not perish. I have entered into truth, I have upheld truth, for I am a possessor of truth. I have gone forth in truth and my shape is raised up . . .
Neper is invoked and identified with in other Coffin Text spells, often in the dual role of providing a supply of grain for the deceased and also feeding other Netjeru, netjeri (non-god, non-human-ghost spirits), and still-living humans. Neper is also called the “god of smoked grain,” which seems to be linked by fragrance or smoke to conveying the deceased soul to various places or even helping manifest the soul visibly. He may be linked to the visual manifestation of souls because grain was such a foundational element for “manifesting” civilization. See Spell 101 for Sending A Man And His Soul:
Go, go, yonder soul of mine, that yonder man may see you in your living face wherever you are. He stands up and sits down when you are in front of him. … It is this grain-god who lives after death and who removes you from the portal of the sunshine, and you go forth from it . . .
Dua Neper, god of all grains, Who feeds Netjeru and humans alike with His essence!
- The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts (R.O. Faulkner)
- Ancient Egyptian Magical Texts (J.F. Bourghouts)
- The Complete Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt (R. Wilkinson)
- Nepry on Henadology
I always thought of Summer Solstice as a Wiccan thing (when I was young), or an eclectic-pagan thing (when I was slightly older). I didn’t think it would follow me home to Kemeticism.
But here it is, a radiant drop of sunlight in the form of a lioness, the Wandering Goddess come home to Kemet at the peak of the daylit year.
As part of writing about Anhur, I summarized the Myth of the Distant Goddess:
The myth, in short, tells the tale of the Eye of Ra becoming angry and leaving Kemet (Egypt) to go away, often to Nubia. The reason that the Eye goddess becomes angry can vary, but a frequent version of the myth tells how Ra sends his Eye to search for Shu and Tefnut, Who have gone off wandering in the world that is not yet done being created; when the Eye finds Them and returns Them to Ra, She finds that Ra has grown another Eye in Her absence. Angry with Her replacement, She storms off and wanders the desert, hostile and disconsolate.
In order to regain His protection under the Eye goddess, Ra sends a hunter-seeker to find Her and persuade Her to return. Depending on the version, the god Ra sends accomplishes this feat by a mixture of cajoling, praise, promises of riches and joys upon Her return, and reminders of the Eye’s duty to Her father. When the Eye comes back to civilized lands, She is met with rejoicing, offerings, and festivities by the people of Kemet.
Different gods can play the roles of the Eye and the seeker in this myth. Often, it’s Shu who is sent to bring His sister-consort Tefnut back; other times, it’s Djehuty in His baboon form that teases and flatters an Eye goddess like Hethert (Hathor) or Tefnut until She agrees to return. However, Anhur Himself is often the hunter Who finds, and the Eye Whom He brings back is Mekhit/Mehit/Menhit, the lioness Who then becomes His consort and wife.
Today, the Summer Solstice, is the Feast of Hethert, Eye of Ra—today we celebrate the Lady of Gold’s return to Kemet in the longest day of the year. Today is the joyous peak of the year’s wheel, the explosion of life and heat and light that shines in glory of Hethert’s return to us.
The beauty of your face
Glitters when you rise,
O come in peace.
One is drunk
At your beautiful face,
O Gold, Hathor.
~ inscription from a tomb at Thebes (source: Hathor Rising, A. Roberts)
Welcome home, Hethert, Mistress of Heaven! You bless the world with Your smile and the warmth You bring. Dua Hethert, Gracious One!
Last year’s first M post was a Monstrous Manifesto.
I don’t really like lions. This is hilarious for two reasons and understandable for the third:
1) I draw some hefty parallels between the behavior and physiology of the extinct-in-the-wild Barbary/Atlas lion and myself. I don’t consider the Barbary lion to be totemic—it’s not an external entity to me—but I do find it to be a disconcertingly accurate mirror into my own instincts, intuition, internalized sense of self, and social patterns (or lack thereof). If you stuffed a baby Barbary lion into a human suit and raised it as a person, it might turn out a lot like I have. This is both a sorta-cool thing and a frequent disadvantage in normal human life. :)
2) Two of my gods, Sekhmet and Ma’ahes, are leonine deities. I never see either of Them as purely human; They always appear as animal-headed people or full lions, often wreathed in flame (Sekhmet) or magma-skinned (Ma’ahes). The traditional symbolism of the African lion (power, nobility, dominance/lordship, the sun) and African lioness (ferocity, motherhood, the tribe, the sun) is very intense in Them and reflects a large part of Their characters.
3) I freaking love spotted hyenas. African lions are pretty much meh in comparison. I also think they’re kinda over-hyped, and as I am secretly a hipster, I tend to stray away from anything “too” mainstream. I prefer investigating the obscure and exploring the little corners, rather than strolling down the big ole well-trodden pathways.
A large part of the disconnect between me and the African lion is not just thanks to my adoration of hyenas or my elemental-lion impressions from my Netjeru—it’s due to the drastic differences between Barbary lions, with which I identify, and the African lions that everyone’s familiar with. Barbaries weren’t pride animals; they lived alone or in hunting pairs. While males and females were still sexually dimorphic in terms of size and mane, they didn’t serve different social or gender roles; each Barbary still had to hunt, claim and defend territory, and find a mate. And, speaking of territory, Barbaries lived in the Atlas Mountains in northern Africa, where the terrain was, well, mountainous, and the climate was semi-seasonal instead of the hot savanna’s whomping dry-wet cycles.
So the lions I grok are not the lions everyone refers to when they say “lion,” and while I am appreciative of the uniqueness of African lion social structure and other facets of their physiology and behavioral patterns, I just don’t admire and geek out over them like I do other animals like hyenas, scorpions, and snakes. The physical reality of the animal doesn’t win me over, even as I can respect the power that the lion wields in mythology and symbolism. Even with Barbary lions, my reaction is more “welp, that’s me” instead of “HOLY CRAP THEY ROCK.”
That said, I still love lion gods:
Last year’s first L post was on magical language.
I intend for this to be a beautifully short, straight-forward post.
Logic and religion are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they are best when hand-in-hand, supporting each other. While you can certainly have logic without religion, I would never recommend having religion without logic: it’s a dangerously imbalanced equation.
Logic helps a religionist function as a discerning, responsible person, both individually and within society as a whole. (It also helps them make up cool words like “religionist.”) Logic helps a religionist understand what is objectively factual and what is subjective experience, and logic helps a religionist accept and engage with questions, doubts, and debates in a level-headed, rational manner.
And religion—or spirituality, if you prefer that term—helps logicals remember that there is magic, meaning, and divinity in the world. Religion-slash-spirituality helps logicals survive and thrive in an unpredictable, chaotic, uncanny reality where not everything is, well, logical and sensical. Religion-slash-spirituality helps logicals exist beyond the physical senses and mundane routines so they can touch the numinous and remember that the Universe-sized picture is more than what they can see right now.
Logic and religion are bedfellows, best friends, and PB&J. Science, logic’s bro, is the foundation of some seriously amazing shit (and is the basis of my own spiritual practice); religion-slash-spirituality lends an even deeper, more breath-taking meaning to all of the bedazzling natural phenomena that we learn is measurably real.
Religionists, be logical, savvy, questioning, discerning, rational, responsible people. Logicals, be awe-filled, sensory, questioning, experiential, enthralled, daring people.
Or, better yet, be all of the above. :)
Necessary Disclaimer: Why yes, logicals can be awe-filled without being religious. For the sake of brevity, I have summed up, but I am by no means being exclusionary towards the many non-religious logicals who are absolutely filled with wonder for the world.
Last year’s first L post was on Lugh.
With ram-horns and ram-eyes and the breath of life,
Khnum sits at His potter’s wheel in Abu,
The Seat of The First Time;
and in that place where the world was born,
He spins His wheel and makes we mortals,
our souls and flesh as clay in His skillful hands.
Into some sweet few, a little piece of Him slips,
a seed and a spark of fragrant inspiration,
and up we rise—up she rises,
and her hands seek out the clay like His do,
and she shapes bodies and hearts like He does,
a small and lovingly-crafted reflection of His work.
Dua Khnum, Who shapes, Who creates!
Dua Khnum, Who breathes into us shining life!
Dua Khnum, Who imbues us with His craft!
For Saryt, my beloved sister and most talented and imaginative sculptor-of-creatures.