I had reason to comment today that the work of healing myself, my soul, carries with it a religious weight of redeeming and healing the ancestors. But it is much harder to transform the living, the relationship with the living. The living still bleed.
My Craft teacher has a saying, “A healthy priest makes all things sound”, suggesting that as we grow healthier, we spread that health out into the world. This is an ethic of ma’at that I think is an accessible abstract: the healing we find for ourselves is something that is contagious, as we interact with the rest of the world in increasing healthy and secure ways.
I get fatalistic sometimes. No amount of healing will transform me into someone to whom certain awful things did not happen. That boat has sailed. I can make peace with those things – am working to do so right now, which is why I have those thoughts – but they cannot unhappen. And longing for unhappening is longing to be unmade and unnamed, in any case, that seeking of oblivion that rests in opposition to the creative universe of ma’at.
There are people for whom it is not too late.
I would make a world that is sound for them to live in, if I could.
It is not something I can do alone.