You Are Here

Rubric:

This meditation builds upon the symbolic work put forward in “Goodnight”. I suggest that you work with “Goodnight” first, or at least be confident that you are comfortable with those images and the energetic polarity between earth and sky that they put forward.

A further note: this is explicitly a Northern Hemisphere symbol-set. I imagine that it can still work for people south of the Equator, but keep in mind that the directional resonances involved make specific reference to the flow of the Nile as well as the positions of the stars. You will have to make appropriate adjustments.

Seshat speaks:

Turn your face towards the south, the source and flow of life. From the southern caverns comes the flood that nurtures life; from the southern sky comes the heat that enkindles life.

As you lie down and stretch yourself flat upon the earth, keep your face towards the south. Do not turn away from the source, hidden within the horizon. As you feel the breadth of the earth beneath you, as you feel your roots sunk deep into the ground, as you spread yourself out flat and broad as the great width of the world allows, turn towards the secret places of the Duat and watch the stars come out.

They come, bright and dim, stretched above you, stretched below you, seen and unseen stars. As you lie with your head in the north, you are surrounded with the stars that never set, which never see the mysteries of the dark, which guard the stormy north and keep watch through the night. These unwearying stars that twist around the pole and marked the fixed point in the sky, these stars of chaos and the guardians of chaos, are unceasing in their arcs, they know no rest.

As the sky darkens and more stars show their faces, the belt of the decans stars reveals itself, the great girdle of the sky. Each star governs ten days, and the greatest of these is Sopdet*, in whose wake the flood comes, the brilliant summer star who greets the new year. Each hour brings three new guardian stars into the sky; each hour has three stellar children swallowed up to be reborn.

Breathe in, stars rise; breathe out, stars set. They rise at one of your hands as you stretch out upon the earth; they set at your other hand. Let the stars rise and set.

Sah** rises from his time at rest within the horizon. Watch his rising, touch him with your eastward hand stretched out upon the earth. Sopdet follows him, singing his return. Watch him climb the sky, watch him peak, watch him slowly return towards the Duat. As he returns to the horizon, touch him with your westward hand stretched out upon the earth.

You are here: your hands span the horizon and measure the orderly procession of the hours, your face turned towards life, your head crowned with the unwearying stars. You mark the great axis of the world. As you breathe, stars are born; as you breathe, stars die.

* Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky.
** The constellation of Orion.

Goodnight

(Try something like this when going to sleep, perhaps.)

Sprawl out as much as you like, stretching yourself across the surface you’re lying on. Feel the weight of your body, the exhaustion of falling to earth, the exhaustion of earth, falling.

Feel his own collapse like it is your own, for earth has fallen from heaven and lies beneath her. His weariness is immense, as he lies, sprawled, stretched out and flattened by fatigue. He is spent in every way, exhausted from his separation, sexually spent, dormant.

Your body sprawled against the earth is like the tumbled mass of a mountain, the great roots of a tree. You are of one essence, and you share that great weariness, the sleepy weight of the day. Sink into the horizon, the space between day and night, matter and spirit, wakefulness and dream.

As you touch sleep, feel the deep water beneath, the hidden depths of the exhausted earth. Feel how it stirs, how it moves as water will move. Feel the sap run, the yearning of earth for heaven, the way each tree rises into the void to try to touch her, each anthill and each mountain range fills with life, the restoration of a connection that is now held in dream.

Rest. Want. Be.

You are here.

Figs

We all know how it begins – sit up straight! Breathe! Imagine your spine as the trunk of a tree…

Back up. Let’s start over.

Your spine is not the trunk of a tree. These trees are not slender, gently curving things; they are great columns, their heavy bodies broad and fat with life. They spread their roots, sprawling, across the earth, building arches of them to support their titanic selves, like the sort of tree you might imagine marks a gateway between worlds.

Your spine is a slender hint of heartwood hidden in the depths of the tree. Your body begins to flesh it out, but you are not broad enough to hold that much life. Settle yourself firm upon the earth where you sit, and feel yourself broaden, your roots grasping the earth like so many wide-spread fingers, gathering in life. How much girth can you encompass, how many years?

Follow your roots as they plunge beneath the soil, down into the darkness beneath. Let them find the secret ways into the hidden places of the world, the deep wells. Let the cathedral arches of your questing tendrils mark the caverns of the spirits, twining like columns in the vastness of the blessed lands. And here beyond they touch groundwater, and you drink it up, drawing the sweetness of life with it. This is the benevolence of Nun which you taste, the richness of possibility, the concealed flow that opens the potential for life under your roots. Draw it up, bring it to light, through your roots, past the gate of morning which is made of yourself and your shadow twin as you shine like green turquoise at dawn. Let it run through you, your sap sweet as milk, able to feed those you bring close.

Bring the water up into your heart, the well of possibility, the potential that roots in the great sea of maybe-this-shall-come-to-be. Draw it up and let it expand outwards, unfurl your branches, bringing the well of life just that tiny amount closer to heaven. Drink in the sunlight that you welcome up out of the depths at dawn; let the heat of noon shape the potential that rests fluid within you into forms and names.

The light flows into you, gathered into the embrace of your branches, shimmering illumination down the water you have gathered. You take and hold the solar fire, letting it flow through you, mingling with the milk you carry within. As your leaves slant towards the beautiful West in the evening, bring forth fruit: where the water of the possible is illuminated by the actual, taking form in sweet, moist golden spheres, rich to the tongue and cleansing to the bodies of your children, who rest in the shade of your branches and are sustained.

Hold this place, your roots deep in the moist depths beyond even the world of the spirits, your branches spread to take in the light of heaven. Become broad and fat with life, for you have what is needed: the generation of water and fire and the sweet breath of the wind.

(And now, for something completely different.)

In the unseen world, the Powers keep their many mansions. Perhaps you have visited one while you sleep, or seated in meditation, or chanced there when you happened to strike the perfect balance across the boundary.

Perhaps you have visited this one.


The path up the bluff is a crevice of steep rockiness, a fracture that broke the cliff’s worn, red-gold face without destroying it. Pebbles roll down every so often, rattling rock against rock on their vanishing way into what is too broad and expansive to be called a gorge.

The plateau above is a vast emptiness, alone with the hugeness of the sky. The wind talks to itself among the rocks and occasional desert plants, and sends dust and sand dancing when it is bored. There is no light but the distant stars, but the desert seems almost to glow, or perhaps it needs no luminescence to be seen by the soul.

Creep to the edge, feel the places where the rocks may crumble with your hands. Sprawl out on your belly like a well-fed hunting dog if that is what you need to not fear the height and the fall. Look down.

There are lights in the valley. There are hundreds of tiny fires, sailing on the river, spinning on the currents, dancing, the tiny life of a lamp set afloat on the water, drifting, clumping together, spinning apart. They are so far away, but from here every one is visible, for a huge length of the river, the way continents are limned in the lights of cities when viewed from space.

Each fierce little light, fighting out a little space of its own. Each beloved light carving out its space, held so gently by the shadows, cradled in the darkness as if it is resting in the arms of a lover. Each doomed little light, with night mantled over it like a hawk over its prey.

Shine brightly.