A New Year's Revelation During Senut

I sort of cheated yesterday and skipped Senut…mainly because I was busy getting ready for Wep Ronpet and was dead tired afterward. But this morning I got a sort of nagging feeling that break time was over and I needed to get back to business—daily rituals are meant to be daily. Besides, I felt a need to bring my plan for the year before them. To show them what I had come up with and pledge myself to action.  And I’m glad I did because it was a productive conversation.

I had been up pacing again last night because it is painful to dig into the past when the past is not a pleasant place in ones heart. It is painful to remember those moments of disillusionment and fear, of rejection and loneliness. But I did it anyway. I spent the early hours of dawn looking through old writings and files—trying to remember what my younger self had been looking for in life, trying to recall what I had valued even in my moments of hopelessness, trying to find again that thing which had kept me from leaving this world early. I found snippets here and there…but only things which were ephemeral: glimpsed in passing before fading into nothing upon further examination. It was frustrating and going nowhere.

I came up with a goal for the year anyway. In fact, I originally came up with five. Then I realized, on really considering them, that there was a theme running through them all. I recognized the thread—thin gossamer thing that it was—as the same core glimmer in all the little snippets I had been finding, a desire so deep-seated that it had been with me for a very long time, since as long as I could remember. Then in shrine today, They gave me the final piece of the puzzle:

It is just as important to look at what you have said yet not said—for you did not always have the strength to say it.

I don’t know who nudged me to consider it, but it was like a wave breaking on a shore.

The stories.

It is impossible for any teller of tales to exclude themselves from their stories—our subconscious fears and hopes shine through in our fantasies. And I have been telling stories all my life. I didn’t put any of them into actual words until much later, and when I did, they were censored and cleaned for the sake of an audience, but the original ideas, fragments and sentences hastily jotted to remind myself of what I had created, those I kept. And my memory for the tales that match them is surprisingly clear. But then I lived in those worlds—places and pieces of myself that I never shared with anyone except the gods who watched me quietly as I spun those stories for my own heart and mind in every moment of joy and every moment of despair. The things I said without saying.

The answer is hidden there.

Nekhtet!

Dua Netjer!