• Even trees rent by lightning may grow new fruit. Code of Ananda
    Cult of Ecstasy splatbook; White Wolf Games

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Other Blogs

  • Unsettled Time
    We are living in unsettled time. Wp Rnpt has ended the time between time, the Days Upon the Year in which time is upended and unordered, but time is still not aligned fully. We have space in which action exists, in which we can uphold the world, set ma’at in its place, the leverage to […]
  • Just a quick note
    I’ve updated my bio page with a link to Les Cabinets Des Polytheistes, where my story “Spine of the World” is published (and in which people can play Spot The Netjer if they are so inclined), and my less-specific webspace Suns in Her Branches, which is broader than this space (which is specifically for reconstructionist-derived […]
  • Opet article is up
    And can be read here.Filed under: Patheos Links
  • On Falling in Love
    For a long time, whenever I wanted to talk about the experience of conversion when I found Kemeticism, I talked about falling in love. It wasn’t just “Oh, this religious concept works for me,” it was a passionate thing, an […]
  • Eclipse Magic
    I am eight. I have been given a subscription to the magazine Sky & Telescope as part of our preparation for Halley’s Comet, and I read through it, earnestly trying to make sense of the articles, studying the pictures. I […]
  • Hills of the Horizon: The Past is Another Country
    The problem with extrapolation from history is that nothing is testable. The evolution of a religion over time is not a predictable and easily comprehensible thing, where we can look at a point in time and say, "It was like this then, so it would be like that now." The process of deciding what needs […]

The Balance

The river flows out of the south and towards the north.
The wind blows out of the north and towards the south.

Day and night are sharp and clean-edged, and the sky is clear and filled with stars.

There exists the line where the fertile land ends and the desert begins, and that line shifts over the course of the year, between the encroaching of the desert and the rising of the waters, an intricate dance of seasons.

The fertile land is precious, in its narrow strip along the waters. The desert is enemy, trying to steal it back.

The fertile land is precious, in its narrow strip along the waters. The desert is defender, keeping outsiders away, shielding that fertility from raiders who lack the resources to cross the treacherous lands.

The fertile land is precious, in its narrow strip along the waters. The desert is precious, filled with gems and stones, its oases producing things that do not grow in the river valley.

These are all true things. In the centre of these truths: the preciousness of black, rich living earth and the peril/protection/wealth of the desert that surrounds it, the sharp division between light and dark, the flow of the river and the countering wind, is the eternal balance: so long as each of these forces is as it should be, the river neither too high nor too low, the day not too scorching and the night not too threatening, the flooded land not so great that it swallows everything built on its edges and the desert not so ambitious that it devours all the crops, so long as everything is in proper order and its cycles are respected, so long as all things fit their proper patterns –

– there is paradise.