Ten inches fell in 24 hours. Ten inches that weigh down the cedar trees, coat the mossy earth, and bury the dead. Even the hemlocks look heavy, more than they used to.
Curiously, in Western culture we celebrate the birth of a new year just ten days into this season of darkness and survival. I wondered about this from a young age dabbling in astrology. My elder sister is a solstice-portal Aries, making her birthday one of welcoming spring and a new, warm world. She, like many other Aries folks, lives her life like each day is a fresh start and an exciting new challenge. That springtime energy is echoed in the depths of winter with December 31st; New Year’s Eve resolutions and diet plans. It’s an energy so out of place with nature that something else – some other energy – must be missing from the equation.
Shortly into my magical studies I read that winter was the power season of the water witches. Winter, too, was the domain of the water zodiac signs (and, to some extent, their mutable companions). Intrigued, I swam in a very Piscean way through this concept and aimed to consciously experience this affinity. Year after year, I’ve found that my most consistent days and weeks of physical confidence, optimum mental health, general self esteem, and desire to be creative reside in the winter months. Of the water zodiac signs or not, anyone with a particular pull towards the water – holy wells, deep oceans, long seashores, river deltas, lotus ponds, thunderous rain – may find a deep sense of comfort and companionship with the waters of winter.
In some ways, the anticipation of spring pulls our hearts too quickly over this cold, dark sea, and our Oneness with winter – and all the opportunities hidden therein – are put aside for next year. And the next.
What are those lessons, anyway? Patience, for one, I’d guess. Winter feels long because it is deeply still. When temperatures are low, there is less energy on the move – less room for mistakes. Stripped bare down to her most basic of energy needs, the earth mother holds us in deep silence and witnesses the cycle of life and death. Water, an element essential to that life, also drowns, erodes, cascades, and evaporates. Water can leave a desert to die, or be present in such abundance as to create the inconceivable biodiversity of the trench.
This leads to the other lesson: presence in what is witnessed. In our case, that simply means presence in the tale of life – and it’s counterpart.
Outside are ten inches of snow and a cold wind of 26 degrees. Trees have fallen, trapping people on the highway, closing off neighborhoods, and leaving others without power. This is the third time in my lifetime of living here that we have had a weather event like this. In the beauty of this snowstorm there is danger, suffering, and material loss. Yet, where there is death there is life.
Washington State in recent years has seen a dramatic increase in wildfires in our forests caused, in major part, by the lack of snowpack from winter, high up in the mountains. In our short but hot summers, that snow from autumn through spring melts. This slow melt is what has nourished our creek beds and forests while dampening the landscape, protecting it from fires. This year, we may see a less wildfire devastation here – that is, less crazed, uncontrollable heat and energy due to the nourishment of a cold, dark winter.
Ice and snow is water in solid form. Like water, it carries the energetics of remembrance, but more like an archive or library rather than the flow of memory. Ice is water’s way of standing still. The elemental spirit of ice simply asks us to do the same.
In winter, the stillness makes us vulnerable. Though we’ve adapted to physical stillness from our evolutionary legacy of migratory hunting and gathering, it would be disingenuous to imply that our mental and spiritual experience is anything but still. This is why working with the seasons in the Wheel of the Year can be such a revitalizing practice pathwalkers, as the seasons offer the most present experience we have in modern life to the natural world. Of course our ancestors venerated this cycle and presence too, but they also regularly faced the other aspects of nature on an intimate plane, like the buffalo hunt, collective grief, large predators, natural birth, poisonous snakes, and sleeping under the stars.
Especially sleeping under the stars on cold winter nights.
I felt the wells of energy in my being today. The root well released first; something unknown cleared away as I relaxed, as I felt safe.
I’m home now in a windstorm with autumn scented candles burning in the window. And I felt all of myself. Something released within my hips, my thighs and back. I felt a relief and relaxation wash over me, lighting something up from the tips to depths of my being.
As I gazed at the passing clouds and felt the warmth of the candles on my cheeks, everything cleared away. I felt the path of the sacral open, then the way to the solar plexus, which opened up my heart, then my voice, then my mind and – finally – my soulness. Stillness. Oneness. Quiet.
Breath on the window.
I felt the parts of my energetic system illuminate the whole of my light body, and when it did I was suddenly deeply aware of how it – I – am part of the system that makes up the whole of the body of the Goddess. What are Her energy centers? As I felt this connection, I felt too the gods of ancient ways begin to spin. They were the sephirot of Her lightbody. I felt my own light emanate brighter, like a line of communication had been formed.
Ascension is talked about as a shift in consciousness, as if anyone really knows what that actually means. States of being such as “Ascended” or “Awakened” can only be pointed to, not shared. Even when pointed to the image isn’t clear. We rely on parables, practices, pretenses, or the occasional poem. Ascension lies behind the taste of that feeling I get when I connect with Spirit, with the lightbody, with the network of spiritual beings which make up the whole of the universe: Goddess. When I sense her energy grid. When I sense her in others. Something endless is behind that unified feeling; perhaps Oneness, perhaps Source.
I suspect that the key to pulling back the curtain on the Ascension experience is creativity. So much of nature and experience is rhythmic. Like the parts of an ecosystem’s whole, all does as it shall in accordance with pattern. The ants in a line, the decay of underbrush, the seasons, the hunger of a hyena, the waves, the thorns of a bush. All is as it shall be. But the human spirit doesn’t operate exclusively in a formula. We are indeed predictable, but not entirely knowable; there’s a depth of will and desire in our hearts. We’re a species apart, one bent on doing not “as it shall,” but as it will.
This human strength has been garnered from our previous incarnations into advanced consciousness, from trees, to dolphins, orangutans, homo erectus, and homo sapien. Us. The builders. The tinkerers. The philosophers, questioners, artists, and healers. Meanwhile, the gods of ancient ways watch us; they’re curious, anxious, to see their creation gain such self awareness, hope, and willpower.
“Maybe,” they wonder, “just maybe, these souls in homo sapien’s body will show the power to create, too. Create so well they can join the next realm, the realm of creators.”
Two weeks ago, I began my schooling in druidry through the British Druid Order. The decision had been on my mind for a long while, tempting me further with every gust of wind through the trees overhead. After a year of sitting with it as a desire, I figured it was genuine and enrolled.
Being of a Goddess-oriented persuasion, though, I think what held me off from beginning the druid path earlier was my desire to have a close connection with a God or Goddess while walking the path. My altar is already quite full. I’m a polytheist and, though I’ve worked with and worshiped the Divine in other pantheons, the Kemetic god/desses are where I’ve settled. I kept wondering to myself how on earth I could mix these Divine Beings of the Nile River Valley, the desert, and the primary resource-rich past with the the Divine Beings of the rainy British Isles, of whom very few pagan records exist.
During my year of casual research into druidry, I gave a lot of attention to learning about the Gaelic, Brythonic, and Celtic gods. Brighid seemed like an obvious choice and I tried to connect with her, but it didn’t take. Then Cerridwen. All the while, the name Arianrhod tempted me – much like the wind in the trees. I think I resist Divine Beings who have little information available about them, like Atum. It’s very frustrating for me to build from scratch. I’m by no means a reconstructionist, but I do prefer to know what archaeological and historical foundations I’m building from. With Arianrhod, there wasn’t much – just a story and name etymology.
Last night with the aid of the Full Moon in Pisces, my favorite full moon of the year, I set my altar and lit a candle for Arianrhod, surrounded by a few stones I associated with her as a representation of a small henge. I did my usual Full Moon routine: drank some booze, made some sacred music, painted, and divined.
I also meditated. I’ve been under a lot of stress recently, and I wanted to project my spirit away from this world and into my happiest, safest place. Within moments, I found myself at home. Not here in Japan, but in the woods by my parent’s house, seated on the mossy fallen tree I used to meditate on, right off the path in the cedars. I was listening to the trees while keeping one eye on the candle flickering in the distance at my outdoor altar.
I felt so deeply, completely at peace. I realized that the place I missed most in the world (home) was accessible within my own mind. My heart was full. Then, on the path, a woman appeared – as if she had been standing there all along and I hadn’t noticed her. It was Arianrhod.
She was looking at me with a soft, almost curious expression. She wore a white dress with silver embroidery, and had thick white fur around her neck. Her face gave me the impression of a woman in her forties, and her hair was shining in highlights and lowlights of white and silver-grey. Jewelry made from small beads and shells hung in her hair and from her dress. Her eyes, too, were grey – and piercingly clear, as if nothing physical could obstruct them, or as if she could see another dimension simultaneously to the one within which we met.
I was so shocked at the clarity of this appearance, the sudden tangible realness, that I opened my eyes and was back on the floor in front of my altar. The moment was gone.
There is so much gratitude in my heart this morning for such a clear connection to have been made, and I’m hoping to repeat the exercise soon. Until then, I’ll simply read the Mabinogi.
A divine life-force energy permeates the natural world. In some cultures this is called chi, others prana or awen; in ancient Japan, that energy was given definition with kami.
The indigenous faith of Japan, Shinto, is not unlike other shamanic traditions found among human cultures. Expression of faith typically takes the form of showing honor and reverence for ancestors as familial and individual guardians, as well as showing deep respect for the abundance of kami, or gods, that occupy the islands.
Modern paganism typically tries to fit kami into the concept of the pantheon that has been defined by classical studies rather than a spiritual experience. Kami are often described by scholars as having been derived by nature. I would argue that kami are emergent rather than derivative; they are a natural phenomenon resulting from the cosmic mix of this sphere in the same way the Gulf Stream or glaciers are. Kami are found within all elements of nature, which includes human beings. Philosophy in the modern world places the Human being below the gods and above the natural world; in Shinto philosophy, much like most animistic systems around the globe, the Human being occupies the same definition of nature that the sea, a rock, or a flower does.
Kami may be worshiped anywhere at any time and with any intention and prayer, or lack of one. Many people choose to make a pilgrimage to large, sacred Shinto shrines while others may not. Worship is characterized by an act of cleansing the body, mind, and soul. This is often done through washing the hands and mouth at the entrance to a shrine, bathing before paying homage to ancestors at a home shrine, or showing general respect for cleanliness and tidiness. The emphasis on cleansing permeates into the expected character of a person, where honesty and purity are regarded as virtues of the most value.
So, where did kami and Shinto come from? The answer is, quite fittingly, lost to a time unreachable to our contemporary lenses. There is no founder nor origin of Shinto, nor are there any specifically divine texts, dogmas, or doctrines. Shinto, the way of the kami, is a legacy of how the ancient Japanese experienced the natural world of their lands, and the kami that emerged from those natural forces.
There are a few kami of particular importance. Izanagi and Izanami who birthed the islands of Japan are well known, but Amaterasu, the sun goddess, and Inari are likely the most widely worshiped. Amaterasu’s shrine, Ise-Jingu, is a must for any pilgrim. She is the thread that unites the Human world with the kami as an ancestor of the Japanese people, the royal lineage, and the one who bestowed grain cultivation to the people. Then, it is Inari who keeps watch over agriculture. Shrines to Inari are dotted throughout the landscape, on mountaintops, edges of rice fields, or alleyways in the city.
Like Loki or Set, a kami that often plays a trickster or even antagonistic role in Shinto folklore is Susano’o, kami of the seas. As anyone living near a body of water knows, those natural forces from which kami are emerged are not committed to keeping human comfort on this planet in mind. Nature is severe. Tides rise, rivers flood and destroy crops, lightning sets ablaze a sun-baked forest. Even nature’s creatures, from small insects to wolves, can cause havoc to our homes and livestock, devastate our crops, or bring illness to our families. While the Human being is meant to strive for purity and honesty, they’re also meant to seek the blessing of kami in control of nature, as well as tolerate the hardships they might bring.
Much like the druids of Celtic lands, the ancient Japanese would gather in sacred spaces deep in nature to commune with the kami and seek these blessings of safety, bountiful harvest, and prosperity. These spaces could be a sacred river or waterfall, a boulder, or an ancient tree. Today, of Japan’s 80,000 shrines are surrounded by woodland. While visiting, you may notice a few boulders or tree stumps roped off in the gravel pathways. These are relics of power spots or places where the kami themselves descended. Holding your hands out to the aura of these objects – but not touching them physically – is a common method to directly connect with the power of kami and sacred space.
Of all the elements that make up the folklore and power of kami, what I have found the most interesting is the relationship Shinto has with wood. The islands of Japan are thick with forest, so it isn’t hard to see why, in a practical sense, this renewable and sustainable resource became a favorite for both Human civilization and creation of sacred shrines. The architecture is a stark contrast to what is typically associated with ancient religious belief, where stonework and grand megalithic structures come to mind. In Japan, it is wood; and that wood is thoughtfully and routinely replaced, beam for beam when it ages. Why?
Because, in modern terms, wood is sustainable. The trees that are selected to create the beams of Ise-Jingu are renewable; this is, in essence, an expression of the eternity that the kami symbolize. Permanence has never been a staple of Shinto, or even Eastern, philosophy. Though the design of Ise-Jingu is the same with each passing generation, the physical wood witnessed has changed, signifying the passing of things within a grander scale of eternal time.
This is perhaps the greatest lesson that we in contemporary times can take from the kami. We build cities and extract resources with such ferocity, such speed and disregard for the future, that we’ve severed our connection to eternal time. Rather than participating in the natural sphere of eternal time, we’ve removed ourselves from it; by considering ourselves outside of nature, we’ve not doomed nature – but doomed ourselves.
Nature will find a way. Life will always grow. But if we are going to be the ancestors of tomorrow, we need to earn that through working with the flow of kami, of awen, to create it.
My plans for pilgrimage have crumbled. I’ve booked a trip to somewhere other than I had planned – again.
In six weeks, I’ll be boarding a plane bound for the United Kingdom. I’ve never been to Europe nor the British Isles, and the opportunity to go has come about through a complicated web of fates at work. It’s interesting to me that I have been journaling and planning for a visit to the United Kingdom in 2019 for years, but was unable to make it happen myself. The plan was to apply for graduate school in Scotland, spend as much of the year as possible in the Highlands, and return home. Unfortunately, other things worked against me that made this dream, this goal, crumble away. Yet, a month ago at the height of summer, I was given an opportunity to visit the United Kingdom for work and extend my trip to travel freely. That, to me, felt like a blessing of the Goddess – or that I had written down autumn 2019 as my first time to Europe so many times that the universe was compelled to make it true.
I have a very romantic view of ancestry. I’m Jew-ish and Scott-ish on my mother’s side and have felt a great pull to the landscape that fed the human beings whose lives ultimately created mine. Beyond a love for classic English literature, Welsh folklore, and Irish poetry, I’ve never been particularly invested in the idea of traveling to any country; my aim with the Isles has always been Scotland’s Highlands where my grandfather claimed heritage.
So you can imagine my surprise at myself when I, once again, have chosen to go somewhere completely different than my original goal. Last night I booked stays in Brighton, Glastonbury, and London – and that will be all.
I did this before, in 2017. After my two years in Japan came to a close, I shipped all my belongings to America, purchased a backpack, filled it with journaling materials and t-shirts, and planned to stay in a Cambodian village. The idea was that I would have two weeks to write, take a few yoga classes in town, volunteer on a farm, and recover from the drama from my life in Japan before going home.
When I sat down at my computer in my emptied bedroom to book a ticket, my mind and memory is blank. It was as if some unseen force descended on my body, took control and, within a few minutes, I had a nonrefundable one-way ticket to Kathmandu, Nepal. I was beside myself. I knew nothing about Nepal – quite literally – except that Annapurna was there.
Yet that one-way ticket turned into a month-long stay in a village in the valley, where I didn’t take yoga classes nor do all that much in the way of writing. I spent a lot of time with people, volunteering, taking photographs and, most importantly, experiencing the presence of God.
I firmly believe that the reason I was overcome with the intent to go to a country I knew nothing about against all plans was part of a Divine plan. The village I stayed in was actually named for Vishnu and housed the oldest temple in all of South Asia to Him. Vishnu plagued my dreams and I was, at first, afraid. Over the course of a month, I became a new person; that experience with Vishnu’s energy was the defining time that led me on an authentic spiritual path. I guess it could be thought of as my first true, life-altering Spiritual Awakening.
As a polytheist, I’ve done as much research as I possibly can on the pre-Christian religion of the Scottish Highlands in an effort to incorporate the same Divine patronage of my ancestors into my current spiritual life. For anyone familiar with Celtic, Brythonic, and Gaelic paganism, you probably know just how near-impossible this is. I felt a great aversion to settling for the Irish pantheon. Though I knew from a scholastic sense that these Gods and Goddesses were very likely worshiped in Scotland, the general lack of temple proof frustrated me. Though Brigid and the Morrigan felt on some level to be a spiritual match for me, I decided to put off the whole idea until an experience of some sort came through. Well, I have that experience on the horizon. It’s already begun.
There is one reason I booked a stay in Brighton: colorful queer culture.
There is one reason I booked a stay in Glastonbury: I remembered a YouTuber I respect, Kelly-Ann Maddox, mentioning it was her favorite spiritual place in England.
That’s it. I knew nothing else yet felt compelled to go; to skip Stonehenge, to skip Scotland or Wales, to skip London or Manchester or Cornwall. Just Glastonbury. It may not come as new information to others but for me, when I learned that there is an active temple to Brigid there, that Mary Magdalene – one of my favorite Jewish women from history – is said to have lived and died there, that the Earth’s heart chakra Anahata resides there… I was dumbfounded. My journey to Nepal had turned into a sort of cosmic guidance to the arms of Vishnu at the location of Earth’s crown chakra. Now that I think about it, my first experience in Japan was actually a visit to Mt. Fuji – the 9th Gate – with my new host family. That experience, too, was a spur of the moment. I had one month off from school and took out a loan to visit Japan.
I’m starting to wonder if my world travels should simply follow leylines! More curious, though, is the timing of these trips and shifts. Thinking back to my journals and planners filled with the goal of autumn 2019 in Great Britain, my first journey to Japan, or how Japan pushed me out of it with such force that I landed in Nepal…. I wonder if these weren’t manifestations at all, but a kind of foresight of the course of my life. Indeed, if we plan our lives before birth there must be echoes of those decisions dancing within us from the very beginning.
Atum, the self-created god of Before-Time, came into my life by reaching out to me in a dream.
This is by no means uncommon; many pagans experience the divine or Spirit communication through dreams, and that often leads us to question and wonder at what we witnessed. Very often, we can sense that the Being in our dream is a deity – but Who?
I’m of the opinion that the gods find us in sleep because dreams are limitless. It is only there that our consciousness is willing to defy the laws of physics or storytelling and visit the familiar and unfamiliar, all in favor of gaining a lucid experience. When we wake, we’re left to interpret symbols; but with Divine dreams comes the challenge of interpreting the Divine.
I want to walk through this process by exploring how I uncovered my patron, Atum. It began with a lucid dream from a mysterious Egyptian God. I devoted hours to research the details of my dream in order to narrow down who it had come from – and what I did once I had a couple guesses on their identity.
I’m grocery shopping with my partner at our usual market when, at check-out, I’m suddenly convinced that it would be silly of us to go home and cook. There were a few hours left to the evening, I told him. Instead, we should get on the last ferry to Jamaica, or Costa Rica, or wherever it takes us.
We arrive on an island somewhere in the sea. My partner is present but I don’t know where. The island is a large, round, and pure sand with tufts of grass on its borders. We’ve arrived with a dozen other seekers, here to witness the Man wake-up. This happens once every 30 years.
The sun is setting, and I see stars. A bright constellation in the shape of an arrow catches my eye first, followed by one that looks like a cave art drawing of a human being.
As darkness falls, we gather in the sand and begin to spread out. The Man wakes up.
In the dark, he pulls liquid light from beneath the sands and fashions them into the souls of animals. A cheetah spirit, tall and boundless, pounces on me; I felt the weight of her paws on my shoulders. When we touched, she became briefly material; when we broke away, she returned to liquid light form. I laughed at her nuzzle.
I made eye contact with a lion. It was a brief moment steeped in profound, deep love.
There were other animals. In addition to lions and cheetahs, I saw orangutans, gorillas, a bear, crocodiles, and vague beasts I didn’t fixate on. Indeed, these are some of my favorite creatures of the Earth – with the exception of a crocodile.
Then I see the Man.
He appears in front of me, almost floating above the sands. He’s older, dark-skinned, with small patches of white in his hair. His eyes are shut but I can sense that he sees me through the lids. He carries a staff made of wood, but it’s strong like metal, with a hook on its end. It emanated a creative power.
The cloak he wears shifts in color from dark green, deep blue, to brown.
I gaze up at him for a moment, smile, and bow my head. Tears in my eyes, I thank him for this gift of “the most beautiful experience of my life,” and I return to interacting with the light-being animals.
But time is short. The sun begins to rise, and they all collapse back into the sands. The Man disappears with them for another 30 years. Tears finally spill from my eyes, and I call out to him as “Jupiter.” The crocodiles, however, do not disappear. As the sun hits their bodies, material snakes emerge. I run from them back to the boats and realize only then that I am alone.
Who is this God? This mysterious Man wouldn’t leave my mind’s eye, but luckily the dream was extremely lucid and provided a good stack of details to use in research.
Step 1: Isolate the Concrete Details
I knew He must be an older man associated with arrows, wild animals, and perhaps blindness if I’m to guess from his shut eyes. I received a sense from Him that He had a need for darkness in order to create – a very common archetype – and I sensed ethereality in Him too. What stumps me most is the Jupiter calling card, as I’m confident he was not a Greek or Roman deity. The number 30 is also notable.
My first thought was for this to be a call for working with Amen-Ra/Amun-Ra, but some part of my intuition told me it could’ve been a dream from Khnum to begin worship of him. At first, I was hung up on animal associations. What Egyptian God is associated with cheetahs, lions, and apes?
Later, as I sat at my pottery table, it occurred to me that in the dream I specifically thanked him for the “gift” of the experience to connect so deeply with these animals. Indeed, big cats, apes, and bears are all part of my animal totem spiritual work. They’re my favorites since childhood. So, perhaps the animals had more to do with me than him.
Step 2: Divine
I was able to perform a little divination late at night, underneath the Sagittarius Waning Moon and the planet Jupiter shining brightly beside it. The only reason I was up and noticed that the Moon was positioned so perfectly in my living room window was that my cat, Zhu Li, had been running in circles meowing like a fire had started.
I reluctantly got out of bed, half expecting to find a rodent in the garden. Instead, it was quickly obvious that it was the Moon and Jupiter she was meowing at. Both were perfectly positioned in the garden window as if peering in at us. I was beyond giddy at the synchronicity of arrow imagery and Jupiter from my dream earlier in the afternoon and resisted the urge to shake my partner awake. I quickly found and lit a fresh pillar candle, burned frankincense, and sat at the window. I tied a blindfold around my eyes while facing Jupiter.
I asked: What was this dream gift’s deeper message? The answer was short, but hit me to my core: “Show respect for all things that take form. Nature carries many secrets.”
That was the divined answer I needed, the founding philosophy upon which I could figure out who the dream had come from.
Step 3: Gratitude
This mysterious Egyptian God didn’t appear out of nowhere. He arrived through a plea I had put out into the universe, asking for a masculine energy to come into my feminine-dominant life. I requested the Goddesses I work with, Aset/Isis, Bast, and Asherah, for assistance in finding a male patron God, because my own research and worship wasn’t leading anywhere that fit.
Step 4: Interpretation and Research
I was offered some very specific hints at His identity: the number 30, the planet Jupiter, arrows, specific animals, and the short divined message: “Show respect for things that take form. Nature carries many secrets.”
The Planet Jupiter
Modern planetary correspondences to ancient gods is a tricky business. I’ve seen more than a dozen sources relate Osiris to Pluto, for example, when we know that the Ancient Egyptians had no knowledge of Pluto in the first place. I like to make some room for these correspondences, though. Pluto is related to Hades, God of the Underworld. Osiris is an Egyptian counterpart. So, naturally, we would attach the planet to both gods. I don’t see anything too wrong with this.
Which leaves me with this: what does the planet Jupiter symbolize on a spiritual and mythological plane?
In Greek and Roman myth, Jupiter/Zeus is the Father of the Gods, the Sky Father, and a King. In astrology, Jupiter represents expansion, spiritual enlightenment, travel, fortune, and is associated with Sagittarius’ arrow and the fish of Pisces.
From this, I can deduce that I’m probably looking for a King of the Gods type figure. Someone who is likely self-created or, at least, someone transcendentally spiritual in tone. This doesn’t narrow down my list of potential Gods much, but it does cross a few off like Thoth/Djehuty.
The Number 30
In my dream, I was told that the God woke up every 30 years to perform what I saw. In numerology, the number 30 is reduced to 3. This happens to be my personal lucky number, but it’s also associated with creative expression in both numerology and Tarot. In Hebrew Gematria, 30 is associated with 3/Lamed, another personal favorite of mine. Lamed and Qof are the only two Hebrew letters to rise above or below the written line of text, something I’ve always found funky and attractive. The Hebrew term “Father in Goodness” shares a 30 value.
So far, so good. I can assume he’s creative (which, honestly, was pretty obvious from him literally creating souls in the dream).
But what of the 30-year cycles related to Saturn? I’m big on researching Saturn returns, and am anxious for my own. Could this God share characteristics of Saturn as a Lord of Karma, maker of bones, or one who brings order from chaos?
With this idea, I’m tempted to add Set to my list with a little question mark. Perhaps he’s related to the God of this dream somehow.
The most obvious answer to arrows is Neith, the Goddess of war and hunting. Interestingly, her consort is Khnum, one of the Gods on my list. Her son, Tutu, is a curious mix of snake, lion, human, and crocodile with his symbol being arrows.
Speaking of animals, let’s look at those.
As I stated in my previous post, some of the animal symbolism in the dream felt gifted to me as an encounter with my spirit guides rather than an expression of this God. But, I could be wrong. The primarily interesting animals were the crocodiles and snakes, who did not disappear with the sun rising, and the big cats who I interacted with physically.
Cheetahs are associated with Mafdet, a Goddess who protects Ra and is sometimes depicted with a head of snakes rather than that of a cheetah. As Sekhmet and Bast, two lioness goddesses, are also protectors of Ra, I could deduce that the cheetah who pounced on me and the lion who observed me were protecting the God in my dream. In this case, that could be Ra or one of Ra’s many synchronized forms. Maahes, a male lion God of war, doesn’t fit the vibe of the dream, so he’s crossed off the list.
As for crocodiles, Sobek is another protection God. His other qualities of military victory, virility, and safety don’t match the dream, but his relationships to Set and Khnum keep both of them on the list. Set is thought to be his father, while Khnum either his father or son.
Finally, the crocodiles turning into snakes. Snakes are infamously associated with Apep, the enemy of Ra. It is curious that I ran from the snakes left behind with the God’s departure from the island, and Set is the God who assists Ra in fighting off Apep.
Step 5: Deduction
Based on these, the most obvious answer could be Ra. He takes the form of a lion or a snake and is the creative force behind all life. But the dream began with dusk, centered on stars, and lacked any blazing sun of inspiration.
The most likely candidates were two: Atum, God of the Evening Sun and an Elder. He is the first father, fathering Shu and Tefnut from the waters of Nun, and all things are said to be made of his Ka. The liquid light of the spirits in the dream would match this. His tears created the first human beings and, though a solar deity, lifts the dead to the starry heavens. When in animal form, Atum appears as a snake, a lion, mongoose, ape, bull, or lizard. Secondly, Khnum, God of the Nile and Pottery. Khnum is an interesting God because he makes the bodies and Ka of human beings on his pottery wheel. The clay he uses comes from the Nile that he himself inundates with water. In the dream, the God I encountered lifted up the liquid light of these animals from the sand. I myself am a ceramicist, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he came to me. The arrow in the sky could be accounted for as his consort, Neith. His animal association is simply a crocodile.
In the writings at Esna, Khnum is said to be the father of Ra with Neith. That’s a fun detail, but I’m going to exclude it since this seems to be a Roman influence.
Step 6: Reaching Out
My process going forward was quite simple. At my altar, I created a candle and offering plate for both Atum and Khnum. Beer, water, and bread are traditional and simple if you’re Kemetic, but there are a plethora of ideas for offerings. For Atum, I included a labradorite crystal because I associate them with the Before-Time; for Khnum, I made a clay figure of Him. From there, I will meditate, pray, and wait patiently for a sign.
Because I focused exclusively on the Egyptian Gods for this search, I included those prayers. What I found through meditation and ritual was not only confirmation that the dream, in fact, came from Atum (woo!) but that Khnum was more than happy to receive worship from me.
Now, they both have a prominent place on my altar.
I hope this write up of my research process is helpful for you in your own search for God or Goddess. If you’d like any pointers on interpreting dream messages from the Divine, leave a comment or shoot me a private email. I’m always happy to help with dreamwork.