Black is Green

These are the days of ablutions.

The water is drawn, the beer poured in, tracing patterns of color in the tub. (The tub is not large enough for this, but one makes do with what one has.)

The beer bath is for curing the evil eye, they say, and the echoes of bad will and jealousy and ill intent. Whatever might have accumulated in bits over the year can stay with the old year, and here in the between times, it is washed away.

Under the water, with closed eyes, it is dark, and in the blackness the seeds take root, they sprout, they brighten, they fade. Here in the Hall of Doors, life and death blend into each other, until here is the grain, here is the beer, here are the drowning waters.

Dua Wesir, fair of face.

The New Year Approacheth

Summer has always been hard for me. It’s not just the heat of it, but certainly that’s something to consider, but something about the way the energetics of it go. The Kemetic idea of the recalibration of the books, getting everything tidied off and properly dealt with for the new year, the purifying Eyes of Ra striking down that which has yet to die, has always been my experience of summer.

My health has been poor; not deadly poor but bound up with a weariness and a lack of flexibility that has meant that my work in my home has greatly suffered. Not to mention my work of writing here! Tomorrow is the last full moon of the year, and how much of the Nut Cycle did I actually write up? Not even half.

But here it comes, the New Year. The Days Upon the Year may be an unsettled time, a dangerous time, but perhaps because of that they are a time when I can let go of the failings of the last few months, cleanse myself, and start again fresh at Wep Ronpet. The idea of cleansing times, of time out of the ordinary, of a place where disruption gives way again to healing and order, that seems very precious to me right now.

I expect to redo My Week In The Bath. It feels like the thing to do.

And we will see what the new year brings us.