The etheric journeyer Seshat Akh Sekhem continues her plea; have you fathomed for whom yet?
EGYPT GETS IN THE BLOOD; SAND FILLS THE SHOES . . . Those words drift through my head as I gather subtle magic at the edge of Ta Sheta, my timeless prison. Alas, the veil of separation flutters. Silence ripples in this void, the womb of the mother, where a damaged soul yet sleeps—one that only Anubis/Anpu can whisper into wakefulness. Ah, no easy task, indeed. Fearing the unknowable, I retreat to the safe familiarity of fear . . . I yearn to touch her spirit with mine, once more. That she shall recognize that which is within the realm of the occult where all possibility also resides.
“Seshat ahk Sekhem” Softly, I speak my name into the ethers, knowing the watchers with blind vacant eyes who stand positioned by magic upon stone porticos, but heed me not. Neither do they respond as I pass into the Temple of Star Doorways, the domain of the Way-Shower, Anpu, ancient time walker and sentinel between her world of matter and mine of the etheric; that of reality and mine of invisible realness. In his more-familiar visage as a jackal-headed man, Anpu can be hard to read. Now, in that masculine stature, his expressive face presents an intensity of purpose. One can easily become lost . . . sinking as I often do, into the cold depths of his shining jade eyes or earn transformative healing therein as needed. I am truly blessed for he has taken me unto his beating heart. I, who was once a human priestess, earned my status as one with the Neteru through initiation, death and rebirth. Unhindered by dimensional constraints or definitions of consciousness and reality, we reach into the living lake of the stars where space curves back in upon itself . . . there where the future touches the past.
Anpu turns to center his gaze upon me. At last, conceding my arrival, he watches as I cast caution to the winds and blurt the news . . . “She has returned!”
So silently, he remains, the soles of his sandals glued to the spot and eyes pinned to mine. I nervously hold my tongue, waiting to determine if he is merely contemplating an appropriate reply or . . . more likely, formulating a rebuke for such childish impertinence. After moments, I notice his eyes sparkling and the toothy smile splitting the length of his black muzzle; both allay my fears when Anpu finally telepathically imparts into my mind.
“Be of a calm mind, my impertinent little one. Of course, I’m aware that waiting is most difficult for one who remembers her humanness and yearns for this reconnection with what’s been lost for indeterminable years. Alas, fear not . . . remember that her heart cannot be rushed toward the desired reunification for to do so would cause irreparable damage. Her heart has been ash-blackened by the fires of human suffering; thusly, a broken spirit still in tatters of dark thoughts and emotional abuse. Until healing modalities return that heart to flowing with rich crimson blood once more, it shall not be roused from its stupor . . . and so, the division between you must remain invisible.” His words leave me crestfallen, but Anpu takes notice of the disappointment dulling the shine of my eyes. He intends to give comfort then, placing his gentle hands upon my shoulders. “Oh, lament not for I have NOT refused your request NOR is your plight without merit. It is I who search the hearts of those who call to the Neteru. Those who prove themselves worthy, shall always receive a reply . . . trust me, child for there is great difficulty in human remembering. It is complicated by the dust of the ages which lies upon the road that she must first walk.”
“But, why cannot I . . .” My thoughts begin a protest, but the neter will has the strength to halt them, unfinished when a rustling disturbance behind me causes me to startle and look back into the dark shadowy corner from whence the intruder comes forth. “La, NO! She cannot be entrusted with the past until she embraces the present . . . and dreams the future!” A seemingly angry goddess, Wadjet, hissed as she intruded on our moment and tossing her coppery hair. I recognize this Divine Awakener, Cobra goddess/neter and think she is a displeasing sight just now. She may as easily choose to dissuade Anpu from my request, likely leaving me no recourse for a future attempt. Wadjet is always a force most ancient, which commands respect from human or god/goddess, alike; her forked tongue may speak kindly of truths or spit venomous untruths and contradiction if angered—I nervously wonder which for she is not easily silenced by any of the Neteru if she feels threatened, angered or criticized. I wait only a heartbeat before Wadjet undulates into the center of the space and continues her hissing tirade. “Oh, that one . . . she is a dancer, which glitters with scales like the stars, but screeches at the sight of my serpentine messengers. I shall not abide such rejection of my guidance by a mere human who is unready to heed the heart. Dark heka is created with each speaking of her name, Nehebka! Indeed! What fool labels her beauty as a demon-serpent that keeps hidden in the darkness of the Duat? Does she not know the power in a name? Does no one tell her the heka or akhu (positive and negative magic, respectively) that is bidden to empower REN, their embodiment in a name? By the speaking of it so, her tongue dooms her to walk only in darkness; never among the stars! Not even I can awaken a stone that refuses to hear my screeching.” Then, Wadjet remembering herself, she snaps her jaws closed and lowered her eyes before Anpu’s steely glare. Unruffled by this outburst, Anpu admonishes with a softer gaze and musical whisper than I had ever heard him use while speaking of mortals. “Yes, yes, yes, you speak truth, but cheat always at our games of Hounds and Jackals, my dear Wadjet. Yet, you have also served me well when awakening hearts and cleansing darkness from spirits of those just like the one of whom you complain. Your fearsome fangs strike accurately, spewing venom to enliven that which sleeps within. First salt tears must negate what earthly matters tried to destroy . . . then, she must choose to open her heart to us . . . or we can do no more. Inside its chrysalis, a butterfly must choose of its own accord to accept the growth of beautiful wings and to own them and fly. Likewise, without love and self-acceptance, the lotus will remain glued within the thickest muck, the mud of ego, never to come forth into flower above the surface of the Nile and burst into bloom in the brilliance of Ra, the SUN.” Anpu’s eyes then narrow and I sense that his voice begins resonating across all dimensions. “Oh, beloved of your father, the Atum-Ra, I ask that you go forth. Uncoil and take up your vulture form as Nekhebet. With that form, your razor-sharp beak shall rip apart and tear asunder the essence of rotting flesh that threatens to keep her in chaos, as well as the wrought iron chains holding her heart captive. Devour the rot, pick clean the bones and sup of the poison sickening her spirit . . . This is the task that I entrust to only YOU!”
Wadjet never spoke again, but quickly lost control of her current form as the cobra-headed therianthrope. She quickly shifted into that of a full-cobra, coiled around her tail with forebody raised above it, golden hood spread wide on either side of the neck supporting her scaled, snub-nosed face, centered with the vertical black slits in her amber eyes and lashing snake-tongue. Barely, had I time to contemplate this form when she wavered a moment upon her lithe body then seemed direct a series of nods of silent snake acceptance toward Anpu—and then, I was sure I head a strange grunting, gurgling sound and a high-pitched scream that surely depicted extreme pain caused as she began the process of shape-shifting again.
At that instant, I cry out a plea that Wadjet be held from changing again and sent out on an utterly terrible mission against her. “Please, listen! Ignorance should not condemn Nehebka for that is NOT her authentic “Ren” . . . not her true name! I beg you, harm her not!” There came no reply from either Anpu or Wadjet . . . only the silence of a hunting jackal and the wail as changing continued. I stamp a foot, like a petulant child whose tantrum bubbles just below the surface. I watch wretchedly as the goddess loses her scaled form, flashes darkly as she glides into the shadows again. The flickering light from the candles chase after her, catching up with her just as she vanishes into the darkness that hides the way out of this place . . . aha, I whimper to see a flash of blue-black feathers where scales had been and the sound of whipping and fluttering of wings taking flight into . . . the unknowable beyond!