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June 27th, 2012
"Praises to you, O moon, Djehuty,
strong bull of Hermopolis, dwelling in its sacred precinct,
One who clears the way for the gods, knows the religious mysteries,
writes down the statements of the gods;
Who distinguishes one report from another like it
and evaluates each person;
Skilled to guide the Bark of Millions of Years;
Courier for the Sunfolk,
Who knows a man by his speech
And measures the deed against the doer”.
- From the Hymn to Thoth on a statue of Horemheb in New York
Hymns, Prayers, and Songs: An Anthology of Ancient Egyptian Lyric Poetry
Translated by John L. Foster. Scholars Press, 1995, pp. 111.
When I was six years old I had my first powerful brush with the gods of ancient Egypt. In the pages of Encyclopedia Britannica I found photographs of statues, bas-reliefs, amulets, coffins and paintings depicting super-human beings with animal heads…jackals, snakes, cats, crocodiles and a dung beetle. A glittering golden icon of the god Ptah with his characteristic skull cap, a treasure from the tomb of Tutankhamun, enticed me to keep looking, to dig deeper for more. For most people unfamiliar with the nuances of ancient Egyptian art and religious iconography, the goddesses and gods of the Nile Valley present a bewildering and incomprehensible spectacle. A fusion of human and animal, each bearing their own set of complex crowns, regalia and signs, the netjeru or gods embody the fantastical and magical, seemingly defying the mortal realm and anything we could recognize as logical. The gods of ancient Egypt appear to defy logic, and are infinitely locked within the framework of their strange myths.
I was bitten by the bug (or should I say Scarab? ) of ancient Egypt at an age when other kids were discovering cowboys and Indians and J.I. Joe. Today this would be nothing unusual, as ancient Egypt is all the rage from grade school to high school, and the Internet has created an endless place for discovery and research geared towards young people who are fascinated by this ancient world of pyramids and mummies. “King Tut” is a household name even for kindergarteners, and the recent global exhibitions of the Tutankhamun treasures (among many other collections currently circulating) have perpetuated the continued legacy of Egyptomania like never before. However, I grew up in the era before personal computers, the Internet and the iphone (I’m kidding, right?). I grew up before Border’s and Barnes & Noble, before you could walk into any bookstore and find countless books on ancient Egypt to satisfy the voracious appetite of any Egyptophile. I had to make due with the few and far between titles available in mall bookstores or school libraries. When I did find those rare books (like E.A. Wallis Budge’s The Egyptian Book of the Dead or Mildred Mastin Pace’s Wrapped for Eternity ), I devoured them greedily, taking notes and poring over the pictures for countless hours on end. Yes, it was the mummies and monuments, the fabled riches of Tutankhamun’s tomb that drew me in, but even more than those was the religion and magic of a world with which I increasingly found myself identifying. More than anything else from that culture, it was the gods of ancient Egypt that spoke to my mind and seemed to tug incessantly on the strings of my heart.
My first personal experience with an Egyptian deity happened some time after my seventh birthday. I was hospitalized for a severe concussion after falling over a tricycle, and I remember a terrifying moment when nurses were attempting to draw blood, and I squirmed around trying to prevent them from doing their job. I remember my stomach heaving, vomiting, an intense fear coupled with the fierce desire to get out of that hospital. It was then that I prayed to Imhotep- that most famous of Egyptian architects and physicians who after his death was deified as the son of the god Ptah and worshiped as a miraculous healer. I called on him and asked him to make it all better, and that’s exactly what happened. Call it a fantasy or a concussion-induced hallucination if you must, but I will never forget the vision I saw above my hospital bed: A shaven-headed and wise-looking man with a scroll of papyrus unrolled on his lap, surrounded by a scintillating golden aura. He spoke words in a language I did not know in my intellect, and yet my heart seemed to resonate with the sound and meter. All at once I felt a peace and comfort settle over me, and from that day to this I have called upon Lord Imhotep whenever in pain or in need of healing.
“Great One, Son of Ptah, the creative god, made by Thenen,
begotten by him and beloved of him, the god of divine forms in the temples,
who giveth life to all men, the mighty one of wonders,
the maker of times, who cometh unto him that calleth upon him,
wheresoever he may be, who giveth sons to the childless,
the chief Kheri-heb, the image and likeness of Thoth the wise.”
- Address to Imhotep in the temple of Imhotep at Philae
Imhotep by Jamieson B. Murry, M.A., M.D. Oxford University Press, 1926, pp. 46.
While in grade school I attended St. Alban’s Perish Day School, a private Catholic school, where every Friday we were required to attend chapel, take part in Mass, and to observe the saying of the Lord’s Prayer together with those prayers reserved for the feast days of various saints. I had been raised in the Baptist Church, which for me was appallingly sterile and devoid of mystery or passion. It was my experience with the solemnity and ritual of Catholicism that was to change the way I viewed religion. In the Baptist Church of my upbringing there was little to endear a heart already absorbed in the study of ancient rites of a pagan culture; enduring hour-long sermons in stiff pews surrounded by stark white walls and a plain wooden altar. This is as agonizingly boring as religion gets! However, Catholicism struck a chord with me, and in it I identified with something that seemed to originate in a time and place much older than the origins of Roman Catholicism. When attending Mass- hearing the chants in Latin, being imbued with incense clouding up from swinging censors, seeing gilded icons glowing mysteriously by candle light- I connected with the temple rituals of the ancient Egyptians, for something in my heart recognized the sound of chanting, the smell of incense, and the power of golden icons.
In chapel there was an especially beautiful marble statue of the Virgin Mary, before which always burned dozens of votive candles in blue glass holders. I remember the morning I made my first prayer to Mother Aset (Isis), seeing in the smiling face and outstretched arms of Christ’s mother the spirit of a much older goddess, whose son Heru (Horus) was the savior-god of the ancient Egyptians. At this time I did not yet have my own statues of the Goddess to adore, so I used the statue of the Virgin Mary as my “stand in” to reach Isis. How can I forget the day Father Treat found me lighting a candle in front of the Virgin and said with a smile, “You are praying to Our Lady?” “No”, I answered with an even bigger smile, “I am praying to Isis”.
“Praise to you, Isis, the Great-One,
God’s Mother, Lady of Heaven, queen of the gods.
You are the First Royal Spouse of Omnophris,
The supreme overseer of the Golden-Ones in
The temples, the eldest son, first(born) of Geb.
Praise to you, Isis, the Great-One,
God’s Mother, Lady of Heaven, queen of the gods.
You are the First Royal Spouse of Omnophris,
The Bull, the Lion who overthrows all his enemies,
The Lord and ruler of Eternity.”
- Hymn to the goddess Isis from the temple of Isis at Philae
Six Hymns to Isis in the Sanctuary of Her Temple at Philae and Their Theological Significance. Part
I . By L. V. Žabkar. The Journal of Egyptian Archaeology, Vol. 69 (1983), pp. 115-137
Isis was the first goddess of the Egyptian religion to answer my prayers. I came to her at first very timidly, not quite sure how to address a goddess, as I had been raised in the Baptist Church of Christianity, which recognized no goddesses and had no concept of the divine feminine. But I was enchanted by her story, because Isis is no ordinary goddess. Queen of Heaven, yes. Great of Magic, but of course. Crowned and arrayed in the trappings of royalty, to be sure. However, Isis is no loller on the clouds of divine queenship. She is a goddess who knows the sufferings of widowhood, homelessness, imprisonment, forced manual labor, single parenthood, poverty…and the list goes on and on. Something that won the hearts of millions of the ancients was the truly humble story of this powerful goddess whose husband (Asar or Osiris) was brutally murdered, who then had to flee for her life as a widowed and pregnant mother, to give birth in the marshes of Egypt in hiding and on the run from her husband’s murderer. Isis raised her son Horus in secret, ever aware that the chaotic Set (the murderer of Osiris) would destroy not only her but also her young son. The trials of single motherhood in this day and age included near death encounters with scorpions and crocodiles, and the added humility of begging for scraps and help from rich matrons who slammed their doors in the goddess’ face.
This was the story that captivated the ancients, and, when Christianity was struggling to overtake the East, made it difficult for evangelists to convert adherents of the Goddess to the doctrine of Christ. The faith of Isis, Osiris and Horus is the story of a divine family enduring and transforming through very human circumstances. It is also the story of resurrection from death that formed the foundation of the Egyptian belief in immortality and physical resurrection from the dead. Long before Christians formed their doctrine of a divine son crucified and resurrected from the dead as the path to salvation, the very ancient Egyptian religion asserted the death and resurrection of its god Asar (Osiris), and the guarantee of his story to all Egyptians that they could follow in his footsteps and be risen from the dead into the paradise of the Blessed. Central to this belief was the magic of the goddess Isis, who had used the insurmountable skill of her magic to revive her murdered husband from the dead. Upon achieving her aim, she conceived a holy child, the falcon-headed god Heru (Horus), who became to the Egyptians the very embodiment of divine justice, truth, and righteousness.
The story of Heru’s struggle to overcome the obstacles of his tumultuous childhood and regain the throne of Egypt from the murderer of his father had a particular meaning to me as a young boy; for the story of Horus is essentially the story of history’s first underdog turned top dog. He is a child who experiences severe tragedy and darkness, then, as a young man, enters a vicious struggle against his uncle in order to regain his stolen throne. The trials of Heru seem to know no bounds, but he is, in the end, rewarded with justice, and himself becomes the embodiment of truth overcoming brute force and immorality. Horus, once perceived as the outcast renegade of the Egyptian marshes, proves his valor to the gods of Egypt, and wins the kingship of his father as the god of strength and honor. To a young boy who was also a runt, often an outcast amongst other children his age and the butt of many a joke, the story of Heru made me believe in the probability of noble character to surpass mere brute strength, and the significance of maintaining one’s moral and spiritual integrity even in the face of the most violent opposition. My prayers to Isis and Osiris inevitably included earnest petitions to the holy son Horus, the valiant god whose power of truth could help me defeat the schoolyard bullies, and survive the heartache of a troubled domestic life.
“I am Horus the Behdetite, great god, lord of the sky,
Lord of the Upper Egyptian crown,
Prince of the Lower Egyptian crown,
King of the Kings of Upper Egypt,
King of the Kings of Lower Egypt,
Beneficent Prince, the Prince of princes.
I receive the crook and the whip,
For I am the lord of this land.
I take possession of the Two Lands
In assuming the Double Diadem.
I overthrow the foe of my father Osiris
As King of Upper and Lower Egypt for ever!”
- The speech of the god Horus from his temple at Edfu
The Triumph of Horus: An Ancient Egyptian Sacred Drama. Translated and edited
By H.W. Fairman. University of California Press, 1974, pp. 106.
I was raised in a very religious family, and I have always been a very religious person. I was even religious as a kindergartener. My problem as a child was that I was drawn to the “wrong” religion. Something about monotheism stuck in my craw and seemed to chew up my insides. And something about church made me shake me head for want of something more. Where are the statues?, I remember asking myself while daydreaming during Sunday school about being anywhere but there. Where are the flowers, the chants…the Mysteries? They had these in ancient Egypt, I told myself, so why shouldn’t they be in the houses of God now? Somehow, it all seemed wrong to me, and I never felt very right sitting in those stiff wooden pews surrounded by black-tied and suited fathers beside their starchy looking wives. I couldn’t stand church, because to my little mind it felt completely separate from the Divine. It seemed more about who was wearing what, and showing off good Christian morale than about finding and serving God. And which God?, I always asked myself. Some distant and wrathful old man flying around out there, just waiting to send irredeemable souls to the lake of fire. Even at eight-years-old I said to myself that one god was just not enough, let alone a jealous and angry god that would condemn his “chosen people” to forty years of hard time in the wilderness. So, I opted for something else.
When I was entering puberty my father told me I needed to be baptized. He was close friends with the preacher, whose son was just about my age and was going to be baptized in a group ceremony for young adults. And how would it look if I decided not to be baptized too? How would it make my father look, my family? Church was, after all, a place where one’s status in society could be firmly established. It’s where you showed off your new car, your wife’s 24 karat gold rope chain, your son’s straight A report card. It was also about showing off your Christian do-goodness. My parents were ahead of the game in that department. They volunteered for everything they could, everything from Wednesday night youth group to Sunday picnics and fund raising bake sales. My father was a pillar of the church, so his son just had to be baptized with the other boys. Period. So I went to baptism class with the preacher’s son, memorized bible verses and evangelical prattle, and generally hated myself because I didn’t believe in any of it, and felt impure at the thought of taking part in it. Why did I feel impure? It wasn’t because I felt I was tarnishing Christian values by taking part in something so sacred without being a believer. That thought never crossed my mind. I felt overwhelmed by a sense of slandering the gods I truly believed in, the gods I kept locked away in my heart so that my Christian parents couldn’t see them. I would betray anyone, anything but them. How could I go through with it?
I stood behind the baptismal tank with all the other boys, dressed in my pure white robe, looking up behind the altar at a blue-painted sky in which clouds beckoned the mind to dwell in Christ’s kingdom. But my mind was lower than low, consumed in guilt and conflict, because I was consecrating my body (and, supposedly my soul, too) to the Christian faith in front of the whole community. But then something happened. I felt a presence leading and guiding my heart into awareness of how this moment could be transformed into something sacred for my personal religion, for my gods and my true beliefs. Looking at the four corners of the baptismal tank, I saw in my mind’s eye the four tutelary goddesses of ancient Egypt: Aset (Isis), Nebet-het (Nephthys), Selket and Neith. Their kind expressions and outstretched arms surrounded the waters in a protective embrace, just as they had the fabulous golden canopic shrine of Tutankhamun. And I saw the baptismal tank not as the waters in which John the Baptist had Baptised Christ, but rather as the waters of the sacred Nile, the holiest of rivers to the ancient Egyptians. And I called on the gods of those people, just as I was summoned to take my turn in the waters. I offered to them the vessel of my heart in sacrifice, and gave over my soul, my mind, the entirety of my being, to them and only them. With my mouth I parroted the words the minister spoke, the words he and everyone else believed would make me a true and consecrated Christian- but in my heart I prayed fervently to my gods, and gave myself over into their sacred care. When I was dipped beneath the waters I experienced them as the same waters in which the god Osiris was drowned, the waters beneath which opened up the hidden passage to the Netherworld. And I entered, and from that moment on I belonged to the living gods of ancient Egypt. Like Osiris, I died and was born again, and my life was the vehicle for the glorious gods who still spoke and moved when they were listened to and called upon.
“I come unto thee, son of Nut, Osiris, ruler of eternity. I am a follower of Thoth, rejoicing in all that he has done. He brings for thee refreshing breath to thy nose, life and dominion to thy beautiful face, and the north wind that came forth from Atum to thy nostrils, lord of the sacred land. He lets the light shine on thy breast; he illumines for thee the way of darkness”.
- Excerpt from Spell 183 of the Book of the Dead
The Book of the Dead or Going Forth By Day: Ideas of the Ancient Egyptians
Concerning the Hereafter as Expressed in their Own Terms. Translated by
Thomas George Allen. The University of Chicago Press, 1974, pp. 200.
My Kemetic (ancient Egyptian) icons are my answer and my call to the gods of the Nile Valley. However, these gods are not just fixed in space and time, belonging only to the hazy mythos of a long-dead civilization, nor are they solely the gods of ancient Egypt as a historical culture or geographical location. The netjeru or gods are manifestations of the Eternal, beings who both embody and transcend the extraordinary culture that first recognized them as the components of all life. Nor can they be boiled down to mere archetypes, the play of the human intellect as it attempts to define the undefinable and bestow meaning to what is beyond comprehension. I must ask how an archetype is worthy of worship? Do Christians, for example, worship Christ as an archetype of resurrection or salvation? Do they view his power solely as that of some abstract symbol by which the human mind can label a thing hidden deeply within the recesses of its own mind? The answer is self-evident. The passion of Christianity lies in the physical existence of Christ, in his historical passion of birth, death and resurrection, in the redemption literally passed down to humankind through the spilling of his blood. There is no Jungian symbolism or Freudian theory that can define for Christians the solid truth of Christ’s sacrifice and promise. So too did the ancient Egyptians view their gods as historical and tangible beings, incarnate in and through the created world. Their powers were very immediate, very real to the mind of the Egyptian, who did not bother with abstract universal thinking, but opted instead to experience the Divine in the here and now, in the flesh, and in the world beyond this one that was as earthy and tangible to the Egyptians as their beloved Egypt.
There are those who, in the spirit of New Age thought, assign the gods to the Jungian realm of abstract symbols inherent to emotional states of being, or simply define them as “nature”. The true gods laugh at such egoistic folly, as human beings strive to quantify, label, and explain away through tidy language the quintessence of the Mysteries. My experience of the gods is that just when you find a convenient label to slap on them, they are sure to change and transcend logic in all its secure forms. That is why the netjeru were served by the ancient Egyptians through the cultic rites they called shetau, “the mysteries”, from a word meaning to “make secret”, “make inaccessible”, “mysterious”, “confidential” (Raymond O. Faulkner, A Concise Dictionary of Middle Egyptian, pp. 248-249). The gods so enjoy the delicious complexity of form and symbol, name, color, texture and transformation. To the ancient Egyptians, each deity was the composite of nearly limitless qualities and manifestations of form. Each assisted in lending the power of recognition to the whole; however, ultimately the gods were mysterious and hidden, experienced truly through the magic of ritual and iconographic forms.
So, I wish not only to connect with the netjeru personally as a devotee summoning up their images within the artistic medium, but also to bring these gods to humankind once more. The mission of my creativity is to literally give birth to the gods, for we are told in the so-called Memphite Theology of the Shabaka Stone that the creator-god Ptah determined the offerings and places of worship of the gods, that he made their body as they desired, and that because of this the gods entered into their bodies of all kinds of wood, minerals, clay, and all kinds of other things that grow thereon (Holmberg, The God Ptah, pp. 22 ). It is through the artistic medium, then, that the gods make contact with human beings, for the artistic medium is that process by which wood, stone, minerals, clay, and the substances that have sprung from the earth are transfigured into the shapes in which it pleases the gods to dwell.
June 27th, 2012
How can I write a typical artist's biography? I was born in such-and-such a place. I went to this school, then that school...studied drawing, painting under so-and-so. I am inspired by this artist, that artist, and my style is thus and such...and so on and so forth. How typical, how abysmally typical. I would rather tell you that instead of being born in a certain time and place I was born to art in a time before time. My earliest memories are of a great oil canvas that hung in a massive wooden frame above the mustard yellow couch in our living room. This was a haunting and melodramatic painting my father had accomplished before I was born. A sombre crowd of fabric-draped mourners gathered around a woman whose grief the portrait never explained. Something about this canvas worked its way beneath my skin, stabbing and provoking me to demand painting lessons from the man who had painted it.
I began painting at the age of six, beginning with studies depicting the Passion of Jesus Christ. My first sources of artistic inspiration were traditional Christian icons, and the works of Old World masters who had used the pathos of Christ's martyrdom as the vehicle for producing their masterpieces. I was compelled by the force resident in these icons, principally because icons use symbols that possess intrinsic layers of meaning to the viewer. They have the power to awaken dark emotions and inspire faith simultaneously. Death and resurrection. Darkness and light. Awesome pain succeeded by profound ecstasy. To my child's mind (a mind just beginning to think like a working artist), only an icon could encapsulate such conflicting qualities harmoniously. The iconography surrounding Christ's bloody death became an inexhaustible obsession as my father taught me anatomy, proportion, scale, color mixing, foreshortening, shadow, and the sometimes painful process of transforming a blank canvas into a story, using line and color instead of words.
At this same age I discovered a deep obsession with another source of potent religious iconography, the civilization of ancient Egypt. My first brush with the captivating magic of this antique culture was a photograph of the innermost solid gold coffin of Tutankhamun, an object that by itself sums up the ever-pervasive goal of ancient Egyptian society: to live forever. My quest at the age of six became an unusual obsession for one so young; to understand why the Egyptians seemed to be utterly preoccupied with death and its process. What was mummification? What was life after death...the Afterlife, the Underworld? How did the Egyptians believe they would get there? More importantly, how could we get there today? Death, mummification and the Afterlife became subjects of increasing importance to me, so much so that my parents expressed concern for what they regarded as a morbid fascination for a six (then seven, eight, nine...) year-old. While my grade school playmates were reading Marvel comic books, I was teaching myself to read the Egyptian Book of the Dead in its original hieroglyphic script. This I accomplished before I hit puberty, becoming fluent in the ancient Egyptian language and a budding specialist of Egyptian religious texts, art and funerary culture.
The supreme quality of ancient Egyptian art is its timelessness. When we see an Egyptian statue, a mummy, the colossal wreck of a temple, we are gazing at survivors of death and history. We are experiencing the phenomenon of transcending time and mortality. Immortality? If it exists, then the Egyptians discovered it and achieved their fondest ambition. For how much will remain of our bodies, our culture...our identity three millennia from now? What we are seeing when we stand in front of an Egyptian antiquity is a piece from another world that has withstood the test of time. The ancient Egyptians are still here with us, and it is through the vehicle of their art that we are permitted to make contact with them and gain some amount of access into their very minds. It is in order to achieve this type of access that I have spent almost my entire life, every single day, single-pointedly obsessed with the writings, sacred texts, art and monuments bequeathed by the ancient Egyptians to posterity.
My goal is and always has been to make contact with the very roots of what made the ancient Egyptian soul tick. In order to do that, it occurred to me (as a child of seven) that I should make inquiries to the horse's mouth itself. I should call upon the gods of ancient Egypt and ask them the essential meaning of death, the Afterlife, and how the Egyptian soul was transported to eternal life. Though I had been raised as a Christian, it was the religion of ancient Egypt that embraced me when I was old enough to begin forming my own opinions on matters of the Spirit.
Communion with Spirit is the underlying theme of all my artistic endeavors, regardless of medium. There is also the archaic (and some would say shopworn) conflict between light and darkness, life and death, pleasure and pain, chaos and order. In the religion of the ancient Egyptians, the essential balance of these often conflicting principles is called Ma'at, “the Truth”. However, to the Egyptian mind there cannot exist one without the other. Theirs was a world where duality and polarity held sway, where the harsh realities of life were clearly defined through the pairing of qualities manifesting in opposites. Each was regarded as vital. Each had its proper place in the established Order, or Ma'at of cosmic life and creation. Within each of my works I explore the duality framing the experience of life, giving equal space to day and night, heaven and earth, air and water, solar and lunar...Spirit and flesh. My work is a mingling and marriage of opposites, where neither principle cancels out the other, but each is given its own unique place in the hierarchy of sacred creation.
Painting has always been my refuge, my own form of meditation and worship. Far from being an escape, the themes I embrace and explore in each work compel me to inhabit the darknesses and light contained within my personal journey into the Sacred. Though I am constructing theological themes using the signs and symbols of a most ancient culture, I am, in fact, connecting in the most intimate way with my own struggle to seek the Divine, achieve healing and spiritual restoration, and conquer the interior forces of chaos with which all human souls must eventually come to terms. This process began for me as a young boy seeking solace and deliverance from a criminally abusive father. The more darkness I faced outwardly, the more I struggled to find internal meaning- and illumination- in the world of icon painting. Initially, I found the Passion of Christ the ideal crucible defining the evolution from extreme suffering to ultimate liberation. This was soon replaced by the Egyptian salvation story of the god-king Asar (or Osiris), the hero of myth who was brutally murdered and dismembered by his own brother, then resurrected from the dead by the magical passion of his wife Aset (or Isis). It was within the sacred myths of the Egyptian religion that I found the language of redemption that spoke immediately to my troubled soul.
My original mediums of choice were watercolor and egg tempera. Egg tempera has a fairly long history within the tradition of icon painting, being a stable and enduring medium that found popularity with the creators of Christian icons until after the advent of oil painting. I began experimenting with opaque gouache and watercolor in high school, opting to layer my paint heavily, creating thick, raised relief-like surfaces which translated Egyptian designs exceedingly well. This is a technique I continued to refine, until I arrived at the technique and style I have used for the first three icons in my Icons of Kemet series. My father began instructing me in the methods of oil painting when I was nine years-old, teaching me the methods of the Old World masters, and a profound appreciation for the luminosity, realism, and texture that could be achieved with this medium. I spent more than a decade studying the art of creating realistic portraits in oils, and continue to appreciate this medium above other mediums as a vehicle for arriving at convincing likenesses. I am now working in oils for the duration of my Icons of Kemet series.
June 27th, 2012
Ra is arguably one of the most recognizable and prolific deities of the Egyptian pantheon, and is certainly pivotal to the cosmological views held by Egyptian theologians from the time of the Old Kingdom (2686-2181 BCE) on. The solar religion occupied a fundamental place in Egyptian cosmogony (see Stephen Quirke, 2001, The Cult of Ra: Sun-Worship in Ancient Egypt pp. 7). Central to the Egyptian view of rebirth was the nightly struggle of the Sun-God Ra through the shadowy and dangerous nocturnal realm known as the duat. In the evening the elder Sun-God Ra-Atum is swallowed by his mother, the star-spangled goddess Nuwt, whose glittering body forms the firmament, and provides the celestial landscape through which the night boat of Ra- carrying the kernel of the sun’s aging form- will make its perilous journey across the twelve hours of the Netherworld. This is not merely a trial for the Sun-God’s survival, but a life and death struggle for the created world itself, and all its living things. For without the triumph of Ra in the Underworld, the sun will cease to be reborn in the East, and creation will die. The denizens of the Netherworld await the passage of the Sun-God through the murky depths, and with them swims the mammoth serpent-demon Apep (or Apothis ), bent on destroying the Sun-God and preventing his vital passage through the twelve hours of the duat.
Egyptian literature from all periods is rich in the symbolism and mythos of Ra’s incarnations and journeys. Despite the dangers faced by the Sun-God in many of these theological compositions, we are always assured that the truth and power of Ra overcomes the forces of darkness arrayed against him. The power of Ra is unique, the qualities he possesses are insurmountable. Part of this power exists in the names and epithets owned by the Sun-God and through which his potency and spiritual essence resides. These are the names and appellations chanted by priests during the daily temple ritual, which formed one of the significant ingredients of the cult of Ra throughout Egyptian history. These were not just poetic descriptions composed for the sake of honoring the Sun-God. These were combinations of sacred words that were held to contain the very essence of the god’s creative power. To recite them was to summon the vital forces through which the cosmos, gods and living creatures came into being. The recitation of these names and divine attributes was the act of materializing them in the world in order to continue the process of creation, in which the Sun-God Ra played the central role as the self-engendered father of the gods.
My Meditation on Ra was composed in honor of the Summer Solstice of 2009, after an inspired meditative journey I undertook while focusing on my icon of “The Father Ra”. When coming out of my meditation I instantly heard these words forming in the ears of my heart, where the nocturnal journey of Ra, and his triumph in the dawn, were fresh in vivids colors of crimson and lapis. The somber purple-blue of the dawn sky was pierced with the blood-red ribbon of Ra’s reincarnation into the world of humankind. The blood of Apep had been spilled on our behalf, and a song of Ra’s glory had been painted across the canvas of my heart.
O hail Ra ‘The Lofty-One-of the-Two Horizons’,
‘The Perfectly-Complete’, the Lotus-Born,
Rising upon his holy horizon as the seed
Of creation and master of the going forth
Huw! Homage to You O Ra the lord of
The two horizons, the Lotus-Born who
In the beginning reared his own form
And created his manifestations, the
Shining countenance coming into being
In the primordial darkness as king of the gods
And father of humankind!
O hail Ra ‘The Complete-One’, the wearer
Of the holy diadem, His searing eye
Giving birth to the Fire of Heaven!
He is the First-Father, clothed in the
Mantle of the sky, bedecked with the
Ornaments exalted as the Imperishable Stars,
Crowned with the secret power of the cobra
O hail Ra the ‘Lofty-One-of the-Two Horizons’,
Smiting darkness with the power of His two
Uwdjat Eyes, appearing upon the Sacred Zenith
In His indestructible incarnation of light, worshiped
By the screeching baboons of His entourage of
It is Ra, this god of light, who has returned from
The thighs of Nuwt as the Golden-One, the sovereign
Of the heights.
He has smitten the black lake of the serpent-demon
And cast out the rebel.
He has beheaded the serpent of the hours of darkness
And repelled the sons of rebellion.
He has traversed the hours of the night as the
Champion of the Two Worlds, advancing
Golden, divine light.
The power of Truth advances him, and sacredness
Embraces the lightrays of his mouth.
O hail Ra the Lord appearing in Truth!
He is Heru the protector of righteousness.
He is ‘The Hidden-Light’, the mysterious incarnation
Of the Spirit-Power, the lord of the thrones of the
He is ‘The Complete-One’, the Lord-to the-Limits,
Accomplishing creation with the power of his
Great eye, shooting forth Kas from the seed of
His divine hand; making light from darkness,
Making form from the void and becoming millions
Upon millions of evolutions in his one moment of
His heart contains all things; his desire gives birth
To numbers without reckoning.
With one hand he creates, with the other he destroys;
With his divine hand He bestows the breath of life,
And with His great eye He removes life.
O hail Father of the worlds and patron of nations,
The Lord-to the-Limits of Heaven, traversing his
Circuit of millions of years in a single moment of
Beyond transience you assume the mantle of
Multitudinous forms, evolving from body to body,
Surpassing the forms of your children, unknown to
The infinite gods!
O hail Ra ‘The Lofty-One-of the-Two Horizons’,
‘The Perfectly-Complete’, the Lotus-Born,
Rising upon his holy horizon as the seed
Of creation and master of the going forth
When a true disciple of Ra recites this liturgy,
He becomes united with the power of Ra and
Is spiritualized by the divine ka of Ra.