Maat is the Egyptian Goddess of cosmic order, truth, harmony, justice and balance. In all things she weighs the heart, the Ib against the Ostrich feather, and against your conviction. Find within her wisdom and timeless reflections.
(Maat) What is the threshing of wheat to be ground, then to become dough, then to become leaven to bread. The bread does not forget it’s place in the grander scheme of things, as it is not bread without what it is made.
you cannot take from you all that shaped your form. And through form there is only law. If you see that which connects one part to the next, just as the soil feeds from the nile. The bread is fed by the heat of stone and embers, and touched by the hands that make it so. What step is devoid of the next one?
What appears as ifset is really under our accumulation of order. For chaos has it’s place. Just as each step from wheat to bread seems incomplete set apart from the next. Imperfect and disordered. It is seen beneath that there is order for even bread. And even then it’s final state rests in the belly and beyond that. So then, even the simple holds our law. It is Kheperu, and so you must become as bread.
(Maat)Your cup is always full, but it should forever remain empty. Because it is the place in which all things can be balanced. In which all things flow to, and which all things flow from. A clenched hand cannot give, nor can it receive. Yet remaining open, it is then you see the truth. That nothing belongs to you, but is only a passer-by. It is a House guest to your longing
And how will you honor those guests that resides within? For a time? How will you treat such things? Some rough, some smooth, some shaking you from the pit of your stomach, to the zenith of your brow. Water takes the shape of what it holds as do you in meaning and release, in release and meaning. All things flow. They must. For that is balance. For we are order. When you feel the water upon your lips, your hands and feet. Remember it is we the flow life.
(Maat) Has not my feather gently softened the senses, invoking you to bring forth your heart. To place it upon my scales, designed to reveal only your confessions, kept behind closed doors. That heart, the soul, the liminal beyond worlds within worlds. Such truths a song of prayer, wielding a scroll of the hidden.
A prick of the finger is not enough. A drop of blood cannot fill the need to probe what is within. That chasm, that will, is embodied in the Divine. A Hall of Truth you shall enter. An offering, your chest uncovered. An opening of the mouth shall be yours when you pass through. And the body, which is remembered as the anchor. Your shadow and your name remain, and the incense shall not falter.
(Maat) We saw how they soothed the Ka. The Shuyet wavered in the light. The taste of fruit seemed to have no place. Desire suspended. We see the inscriptions on the tomb, the canopic jars belonged. The Ren and Ba stood. The Ib, protected by the scarab. Sealed within, we made our way to the Duat. We are the test.
(Maat) Let incense carry words to the gods resting aloft. Not in some place of air. But in lungs. We maat are of the living breath.
Inhale truth and exhale maat. In this solidarity even the divine measure of truth becomes human. Truth incarnates as god as man.
And in man, god breathes Maat into the world.To exalt your heart in front of we. To know it is the first and final witness.
