A “Moo-mas” Reminder

[redheart]

Originally published at Ekunyi's Embers. You can comment here or there.

Preparing for senut last night, I reached out to my gods, probing for the now-familiar sense of Who wished for what kind of offering this evening, Who wanted to speak with me and had a particular request for food or drink in turn. I usually hear from a few of Them each evening I manage time in shrine, their responses not necessarily coming in words, but instead more of a small, mental nudge towards a particular form of bread, tea, or fruit. Usually from this I can expect, even before I light candle and incense, Who will require my focus on a given evening, based on what I know of Their preferences, or the general feel to the presence behind the request.

Last night, I was surprised by Set.

Not surprise for Who was asking, of course. As my spiritual Father, the god who all but hauled me straight into polytheism after years of disbelief, the Name who has flipped my life upside down several times over to help me reach necessary, if difficult, goals — Set tends to get the focus of my devotions.

No, it was what He wanted that threw me for a loop.

“Offer the cards.”

While I knew immediately what He was referring to, I couldn’t wrap my head around why He was being so insistent about it. He genuinely seemed to want me to get out the Moo-mas cards and put them on the offering plate!

By way of brief explanation, Moo-mas is a fun nickname for an actual Kemetic holiday, the Establishment of the Celestial Cow.

This day celebrates Hethert-Nut’s lifting of Ra into the sky, carrying Him away from the wars of mankind that had worn Him down, giving Him the opportunity to start anew as he began a new form of leadership, ruling from the sky. The holiday celebrates Her strength, the unwavering love and power required to complete this tremendous act, even though texts specifically reference the difficulty, noting how Her legs shook from the effort until she was granted aid. The Establishment also represents the wonderful opportunity to start fresh, one of countless conceptualizations of Zep Tepi, new dawns, new beginnings, that we have in our religion.

This Kemetic celebration often falls on December 25th, the day on which many of our Christian friends and family celebrate Christmas, and a holiday whose many secular traditions such as caroling, holiday card exchange, and tree decoration may hold some appeal. The name Moo-mas seemed to stick, and new traditions developed.

The Moo-mas card exchange is one such recent practice, and one that I have treasured for the past three years. I have kept every card I’ve received in that time, put them on display as they arrived, and then tucked them away in a small basket near my akhu shrine.

But with Set’s request, I went and retrieved them. I set them on the offering plate, still confused but willing to go with the flow, going through the rest of the formal rite, and then offering them alongside pure water.

I often sing in shrine, having now written a song for each of the five gods I primarily worship, but Set cut me off even before I could begin the first verse. Again, the strong sense of the cards.

I picked them up. I opened the first. I read the message, found myself running my index finger along the ink. This was an old one, from my first year of participation. My friend still addressed me as Ekunyi here, before I’d become Saryt to her. I thought of the small sculpture that had accompanied this card, the many conversations that had followed on art, clay, creative devotion.

I opened another, touched by the small, hand-drawn depiction of both Set and Bast, the blessings offered in a handwritten script.

One of the newest cards, specifically selected for me because of the frogs on the cover, with a written in “Dua Heket!” I laughed aloud at that the first time I’d opened it, just the day before, and laughed again, appreciating the time and thought that had gone into the card’s selection, and the kind message that accompanied it.

I went through more cards, from different years, different friends and acquaintances. Yet my hands kept seeking more, even after I’d closed the last card. I opened up the doors to the storage below my shrine, pulled out beaded necklaces, bottles of sacred oil, paintings and drawings and poetry from the talented hands and hearts of so many acquaintances who had gradually become family over three years of time and shared experience.

My hands rested on a piece of linen, my Father’s outline embroidered in my Mother’s colors, a gift from a friend and spiritual sibling who is even farther away than many of the others. I teared up, just… needing to touch it, in that moment. I needed to hold it, to treasure the tangible reminder that this faith has brought me so many amazing connections, so many incredible moments of shared understanding and compassion.

Without ever having realized that I’d lost sight of it, I suddenly recognized that I had desperately needed this physical reminder of why I do as much as I do, why I give what I can of my time and energy to these incredible people all around the globe. That it counts for something. That despite the difficult times, all the horrible grief and violence and pain in the world right now, there is beauty in these connections that have been established through our mutual faith and belief in our gods.

It is such a small thing, holding a card, a beaded necklace, a piece of embroidered linen in your hand, and yet there is a profound significance to the reality of it. Touching what has been crafted with you in mind, remembering that you matter to someone, and they to you in turn.

A thousand blessings on all of you this holiday season. Thank you, all of you, for being in my life.