I am he who rises and lights up wall after wall, each thing in succession. There will not be a day that lacks its owed illumination. Pass on, O creatures, pass on, O world! Listen! I have ordered you to! I am the cosmic water lily that rose shining from Nun’s black primordial waters, and my mother is Nut, the night sky. O you who made me, I have arrived, I am the great ruler of Yesterday, the power of command is in my hand.
— Spell 42, The Book of the Dead
Tides spurred nothing
heartsore below,
storming upon self
long sought, dreamt,
and wandered hurt.
So could the eye behold
skin of waters, lands beloved,
enacting through wildness
the dark within,
whose arms reached
this sun-kissed eye
for visions, until life
longed for wildness
and emptiness howled
its longing.
From nothing—
dark, wet, fog—
the sun and stars,
the blue lotus:
new skin, solar kiss,
arms reaching outward.
Sky cracked with sobs.
Petals dripped dew salt,
crystallizing heart.
Emptiness poured
forth wet delight.
Muckbound, earthfed:
so the lotus unfolds.
Through his hands
came essence humbled,
perfect, crawling,
enticing sun to life.
For behold,
the eyes assent.
Aching tide sobs the familiar
within shifting grime.
So his roots, long-sought,
dream of surrender.
Beloved child, outward
gazing. Be still dew.
Tears entice, cracking
petals from crystal
for wet, new beings.
Gazing knew delight.
Being climbed upon nothing,
beautiful intoxicating
and so sore-hearted.
The skin of disparate
dew child, beloved.
My lotus. Blessed wind.
Reaching will.
I beautiful, muckfed,
sore-hearted need, sought
my self through grief.
The stench of blue lotus
stirred longing, hunger
for confounding delight—
shifting each I.
Blessed Nefertum,
long-sought, dreamt
all my days, yearning
to discover, endured
to perceive.
Shit-faced, I surrender
to your root. Through tide
and occlusion I crest,
casting myself to wind,
enticing relief from essence,
unfurling wildness within,
bringing fullness to gods.
