• This is the only story of mine whose moral I know. I don’t think it’s a marvelous moral; I simply happen to know what it is: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. Kurt Vonnegut
    Mother Night

Other Blogs

RSS Peaceful Awakenings

  • Someday I Will Be Doing Research Again
    Until that point apparently I will just pop in once a year or so and remind people that it is the Opet season, a time when we show civic support for our broader communities here at Peaceful Awakenings’ Take On Kemetic Social Values. If anyone wants to join me, The Emboatening Crew on Kiva is […]
  • Opet Again
    Just popping in to remind everyone that with the Opet season upon us again, the Emboatening Crew is still rolling to support Kiva loans. (My office renovations are going well if slowly, so who knows if that means I’ll get more work done when they’re done.)
  • CowOfGold Moving
    An update on my previous post: Cow of Gold will have a new home here when the maintainer has a chance to put up the site again (with some revisions, apparently).

RSS Hills of the Horizon

  • 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 […]

Religious Pantoums

In the Ear of Heru-sa-Aset

Self-rule is the first thing:
To know the length of your arm
Is to know the scope of your reach
And the limits of your strength.

Know that the length of your arm
Spans the width of your governance
And the limits of your strength
Hem in the boundaries of solitude

Span the width of your governance
With all the hands that serve your shoulder
Hem the boundaries of solitude
Beyond the skin of your embodiment.

With all the hands that serve your shoulder,
Self-rule is the first thing.
Possess the skin of your embodiment,
Know the scope of your reach.

In the beginning and the end
Neither dead nor mad:
Heaven-crowned and star-born,
Having the breath of ghosts and gods.

Neither dead nor mad, but
Root-deep in the cavern of spirit,
Bringing the breath of ghosts and gods
And bearing the liminal fruit.

Root-deep in the cavern of spirit,
The garden bride and furrow queen
Bears the liminal fruit
And raises the center pole.

Garden bride and furrow queen,
Honey-mead and fairy wine,
Raising the center pole
For the making of a king.

Honey-mead and fairy wine
From out of the home of dragons
For the making of a king:
Shapewright and shapeshifting.

From out of the home of dragons,
A vine-tangled grasp
Of shapewright and shapeshifting,
Mist-clad and sun-eyed.

A wine-tangled glass
In the beginning and the end,
Mist-clad and sun-eyed,
Heaven-crowned and star-borne.

This lonely howl down the stormwind-whip
Outside the stony silent gates of mist
Calls up the company of caul-born souls
To open up the harvest heart.

Outside the stony silent gates of mist
A memory awakened by a tale
To open up the harvest heart
To recover what was lost

A memory awakened by a tale
Of things that never happened and were true
To recover what was lost
Or kindle what was never had.

Things that never happened and were true,
This lonely howl down the stormwind-whip
Kindling what was never had
Among the company of uncauled souls.