• “Eye of Horus” is the cultic expression for every offering item, not just water. Every offering item was thus represented as a substance that restored something that had been lost, that returned something that had been stolen, that renewed something that had been used up, that replenished something that had been reduced, that put together something that had fallen apart – in short, it was the symbol of a reversibility that could heal everything, even death. Jan Assmann
    Death and Salvation in Ancient Egypt

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Other Blogs

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    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
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  • Opet article is up
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The River

The river is the central artery of being.

It emerges from somewhere else. It emerges from the cataract. It emerges from the land of spirit, from the land of the dead, from the hands of those who guard the gates of its flow.

It emerges from the places where there are hidden stars, never seen. From mysteries, from the fonts of sacredness, the places of invisible lives.

It flows out from there, and it brings life with it, the sustenance that will make the land blossom. It brings new earth; it brings release from thirst. When it floods, it brings dread things, dire things, that escape and run rampant until they are again contained, turned away, banished.

There is no power that is not ambivalent. The water flows and it bears the power of life from the font from which life emerges; the water flows and it brings plague as well. The water flows too high and it washes everything away, eating away houses, devouring anything not built in stone; the water flows too low and there is no new earth, no growing season, and thirst.

The river connects. Its roots in the hidden realms give rise to the power to go from city to city, from place to place, to allow other flows to exist. Its perpetual boundary is also a perpetual highway, letting the living reach to each other, to travel, to span the distance between them.

The river is perilous. The crocodiles will return the unwary to the depths of unbeing, the roots of where water came from. The hippopotamus tramples if enraged. The waters themselves, that give life, will kill, and drowning can create gods.

The river has its rhythms, its pulses, its high times and low times.

Even as it emerges from the unseen, from the realms of the dead, it flows past that which is human, and out into the unspeakable and the dangerous and the foreign. The flow does not stop here; the river’s purposes go beyond that which is human.

Like all great powers, the river is generous, within its bounds.