I worked about 55 hours this week. My company is ramping up for their biggest event of the year, and the entire creative group is flooded with requests for assets and new projects. As newly-promoted manager of the department, I get to herd all the cats, from usually-unavailable executives to overworked designers. It is, to say the least, an intense and hectic position, and the crazy won’t ease up until mid-April, after the event.

All week, I have relied heavily on Serqet to lend me Her carapace as protection against the stress and chaos of the fast-paced, long-winded days. I will probably continue to lean on Her until the peak of activity passes and things calm again.

In thanks to Her, I offer this, along with such treats as I create and pour and bake and cook this weekend and in coming days:

Hail, Serqet!
Lady of the Golden Carapace,
She of Strongest Skin,
Your radiance is the sun’s light!
Those bathed in Your glow
kiss the ground before You.

Hail, Serqet!
Lady of the Stinging Tail,
She of Venomous Kiss,
Your mercy is the sun’s blessing!
Those spared from Your touch
kiss the ground before You.

Hail, Serqet!
Lady of the Living Breath,
She of Fearless Heart,
Your power is the sun’s wrath!
Those shielded by Your shadow
kiss the ground before You.

Hail, Serqet!

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.

The full topic of this post is fourfold:

• Do I need a main deity to practice Kemeticism?
• If so, how do I get a main deity?
• Am I obligated to learn everything I can about my main deity?
• Am I able to say no to a deity that shows up at my shrine?

Short answers: No. By developing a relationship naturally. “Obligated” is a bad word. And yes.

But I’m pretty sure you want the long answers, too, right? So here we go.

1) Do I need a main deity?

Quite honestly, this is something only you can answer. In terms of the community and the path, no, you don’t need a primary god. But in terms of your personal, spiritual needs, perhaps you do. If you crave that special one-on-one, if you really want a patron/matron relationship with one deity above the others, then by all means, seek it! If you prefer having several relationships that are equal in weight, then do that! I know Kemetics who have strong relationships with several Netjeru, yet have one particularly special and powerful one; I know other Kemetics who have more casual and equal relationships. And yes, you can have really strong relationships with multiple Netjeru at once. The way you develop your relationships with your god(s) is up to you, your own nature and desires, and the god(s) in question. Some deities may, in fact, prefer to be the focus of your worship. Others may push you to keep other Netjeru in your life in order to balance out Their influence.

Ultimately, it’s up to you to find the right balance that satisfies your needs and the requests of your god(s). There is no singular correct way to do it.

2) How do I get a main deity?

As above, this can drastically vary, depending on how you interface with god(s) and which god(s) you’re interacting with. You may approach a deity and receive instantly clear instructions on how to worship Them, but please realize that’s not exactly common. More often, you wind up with a primary god in the same way you wind up with a best friend: you interact with deities you’re drawn to, and those relationships grow naturally until you realize that one Netjeru in particular has become the focus of your spirituality, your worship, and your life. You can formalize that relationship if you’d like, and maybe some deities will even request a ritualized commitment from you; but, again, that’s between you and your god(s).

While there are a ton of ways to go about developing a relationship with a primary god, I will always recommend keeping yourself free of expectations. Just as you wouldn’t go on a first date and plan your children with a person you’ve just met, don’t prepare to call a Netjeru your primary god on your first hello in shrine. You have time; you can let that relationship deepen and grow naturally, instead of rushing or forcing it.

3) Am I obligated to learn everything I can about my main deity?

I don’t like the word “obligation.” I would say it is strongly encouraged and recommended to learn as much as you can, or at least as much as you want, about your god. It can be extremely beneficial and helpful to do some reading on your god’s historical and even modern interpretations. In much the same way as you wouldn’t marry someone you knew nothing about, it’s generally a good idea to learn as much as you can – through experience and research both, in a ratio that suits you – about the deity that you focus on. Don’t forsake the interaction and one-on-one time in favor for always thinking and never doing, but, as a Kemetic, we tend to be revivalists and reconstructionists; digging through ancient history is part and parcel of most of our practices.

I wouldn’t call it a requirement, but it’s pretty common and pretty all-around encouraged. Plus, you’d be amazed at the lightbulbs that come on when you read something that really clicks with you.

4) Can I say no to a deity that approaches me? How?

Yes, you absolutely can. And it can be as simple as politely saying, “Thank You for Your interest in me, but I am not willing/available to work with You at this time.” Sort of how you’d turn down a job recruiter if you’re already happily employed, in fact.

However, I would caution against a quick decision on your part. You always have the right to say “no thank You” to a deity, but before you do, consider why that deity has shown up—and figure out why you’re not interested. If it’s a simple case of being too busy already, or being perfectly happy and content with your current god(s), that’s one thing; but if you have a strong knee-jerk reaction of “AUGH NO” to a deity, try to explore why that is.

There are an awful lot of deities out there with damaged reputations; Kemetic gods in particular have been waylaid by Greek influences and considerably warped, and many otherwise-valuable sources don’t always tell you which myths are from purely Kemetic time periods or from Greco-Egyptian eras. When I was about knee-deep in Kemeticism, still wading deeper but not fully swimming yet, I read that Geb, the god of the earth, had violently seized the throne from His father, Shu, the god of air, and had taken His mother as His own queen. I was instantly nonplussed, and Geb became one of the few Netjeru I wanted nothing to do with. It was only a few months later that I discovered that the myth I had read was Greek-influenced, equating Geb with Zeus and Kronos; pre-Greek Kemetic myths didn’t have that story at all.

Set is another deity frequently poorly-represented by many modern beliefs and Greek sources, and there are others Who have been made overly saccharine, too, by more recent sources and trends. Bast is not a kitten; Aset (Isis) is not a sweet, all-loving, harm-none mother goddess. If you’re reluctant to work with a deity because of what you (think you) know about Them, please do a bit more research—talk to Kemetics who know Them and find some good pre-Greek-influence resources. They might be stepping into your life just when you need Them, even if you don’t realize it at first. Some of the gods we need the most are also the ones we wouldn’t consciously choose.

All that said, though, Kemeticism is voluntary, and, as far as I’m concerned, you can still turn a deity away if you genuinely don’t want to or cannot work with Them. Free will is deeply important in your practice, just as much so as an open mind and a willingness to experience and learn.

What’s the bottom line?

You don’t need a primary god to be a Kemetic, but if you want one, I recommend going about it in an organic, let-it-happen-naturally sort of way. Whether or not you work with a primary god, the Netjeru in your life will let you know how They prefer to be honored, and you can find a solution that fulfills your wants and needs as well as Theirs. It’s a great idea to research your god, but don’t let that take the place of one-on-one interaction and experience; establish a balance. You don’t have to work with any deity Who shows up, but it’s worth giving Them the benefit of the doubt and taking a bit of time to research Them and explore your feelings about Them before saying no.

The best rule of thumb is that everything is subjective, there is no One Right Way, and you can learn by trial and error. :)

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 had played guitar until my fingertips were purple, and despite all the hesitation and insecurity of a novice musician, I had put an original chord progression to original lyrics for the very first time. It was short, and simple, and I couldn’t play it through smoothly yet, but I had done it.

Nebt-het was there; She had been there the whole time. It was Her song I was putting music to. She was a quiet presence, like twilight-purple incense smoke in velvety shadows, supportive and patient and nonjudgmental.

I put my beloved guitar down, worked the kinks from my fingers, and started a litany of apologies. I was sorry I had to stop; I was sorry it wasn’t as long as a “real” song; I was sorry I couldn’t play it through perfectly…

She stopped me, gently but firmly, and told me in no uncertain terms that It Was Enough. She didn’t mean that I was done practicing, or that the little song would never be changed or improved in the future—She wanted me to know that my efforts, my time, and the music that resulted from my devotion were wholly sufficient. There was no lack in that moment.

It floored me, the concept of enoughness, the idea that I hadn’t in some way failed to do things better or more. My Mother—Who, at the time, had not been divined my parent deity and was simply a Netjeru for Whom I felt an inexplicably strong affection—did not find me or my efforts wanting.

That is still a concept I struggle with, a belief I am poor at integrating. I am very quick to compare myself with others and with some nebulous perfect “maybe” that I expect myself to achieve without fail, and I frequently fall short of the high standards to which I hold myself. The idea that I measure up just fine is a somewhat unfamiliar one—and to hear that from a goddess, Who has known the best that has ever been and Who knows how far little ole me is from that ideal? If She were anyone else, I would not be able to believe Her when She told me that it was enough, that I was enough.

But it’s Nebt-het, and She speaks only rarely to me, and Her few words ring too deep for my flaky self-esteem to ignore.

So I practice enoughness. I keep my high standards in mind, but I try not to writhe too much when I don’t meet them. Nebt-het is a goddess of compassion, and so I learn from Her how to embrace the reality of a thing without denial or rebuke or rosy fantasy. After all, if I strive to extend unconditional compassion to others, I must start with myself.

Last year’s first E post was on extinct totems.

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.