• Then take the universe and grind it down to the finest powder and sieve it through the finest sieve and then show me one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy. And yet you act like there was some sort of rightness in the universe by which it may be judged. Terry Pratchett

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Other Blogs

  • 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
  • Opet is coming ’round again
    And the Emboatening Crew is once more celebrating by making Kiva loans. You’re all welcome to join us. (My monthly column in Patheos Pagan is about Opet and charitable works, and will be going up tomorrow assuming nothing goes wrong.)Filed under: Festivals, Uncategorized
  • The Art of Being A God
    It’s interesting having one foot in reconstructionist religion and one foot in religious witchcraft, for a lot of reasons. One of the things that I’ve been thinking about lately is the shape of how the gods appear within the context […]
  • Mythopoeia
    Continuing with rambling on the topic of my exploration of pagan movement history, another critical concept: mythopoeia. The word means, literally, “myth-making”, and it is one of the near inescapable traits of at least the origin points of pagan religions. […]
  • 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.