Bast and Sekhmet: Eyes of Ra

Contents

Prologue: Journey to the Temple of Bast

Introduction

Chapter One: Pawprints of the Gods

Chapter Two: The Goddess Bast

Chap2ter Three: The Goddess Sekhmet

Chapter Four: Temples of the Soul

Chapter Five: The Tribe of Shadows

Chapter Six: Felines From the Mists of Time

Chapter Seven: Breath, the Purr of Life

Chapter Eight: Bringing the Sacred Home

Chapter Nine: Colours of the Gods

Chapter Ten: Opening of the Way

Chapter Eleven: The Cone of Power

Chapter Twelve: A Visit to the Temple of Bast

Chapter Thirteen: A Rite of Bast

Chapter Fourteen: Festival of Bast

Chapter Fifteen: A Meeting With the Goddess Sekhmet

Chapter Sixteen: Sekhmet Self– Empowerment Ritual

Chapter Seventeen: Sekhmet Ritual of Protection

Chapter Eighteen: Festival of Sekhmet

Chapter Nineteen: Bes Ritual

Chapter Twenty: Attuning to Your Cat

Chapter Twenty– One: The Bridge Across Time

Chapter Twenty– Two: Travelling the Unlit Road

Appendix: Pleasures of the Gods

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of the memory of our first feline companions, Star (Pusskin) and Runty,

Who gave us love and friendship in life

And will be forever remembered.

They were our inspiration and led us to the path.

Prologue

Journey to the Temple of Bast

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I walk across the hot, red sands at the edge of the vast eastern desert. The sun burns above me in a cloudless sky the deep blue of lapis stone. I breathe in the clean air of a different time and hold out my arms to the sunlight. I feel feline and sensual here, at home inside my skin.

Ahead of me, I see the golden sandstone pylons of a mighty temple rearing up to meet the sun. My feet carry me towards it. I seem to float above the ground, carried by a force outside myself. The feeling is alien but peaceful; all is as it should be.

The gentle breeze carries sounds of faint music to my ears and the sound draws me on, like driftwood on a tide. As I get closer I can make out the airy music of flutes, the earthy, deep throb of drums and the strange, chattering sounds of sacred rattles. The rhythm is familiar. This is the song that has called to me on moonlit nights of another time. Its haunting notes resonate within me. I feel it in my blood, my bones, and my sinews.

I walk past the entrance to a wadi, where there is a cool watering hole, sheltered by tall trees. Here a pride of lions lie resting, seeking sanctuary from the fierce heat of the sun. They raise their heads to me in welcome and appraise me through slitted eyes. The lionesses sit together, mothers, sisters and daughters, their amber eyes full of wisdom and secrets. I wish I could sit with them, but my feet draw me onwards. I bow my head to them as I pass by.

As I approach the mighty pylon of the temple, I can see for the first time that its surface is covered in painted reliefs. Amongst the symbols, there are cat headed figures and tall, seated cats. This is the temple of Bast.

As I pass beneath the pylon, I feel myself begin to change. My clothes are replaced by a long white dress of fine linen. My hair no longer hangs free but is braided and shines with rich oils.

A multitude of cats shelter from the sunlight in the shade of the pylon and watch me lazily, without interest. The air around me throbs with their purrs and their sounds merge with the strange music drifting on the warm breeze from within the cool blackness of the temple.

The temple itself stands tall above the land like a wondrous palace in a child’s story. At the top of the steps, I turn for a moment and see the shining waters of the Nile beneath me. The river reflects the sunlight like a mirror as it curves, snakelike, through the Delta. I have to shield my eyes to look on it. It is glaring in its splendour.

Inside the great gateway, two obelisks of shining black granite stretch up towards the sky. I try to see their tapered pinnacles but the sun is so blazingly fierce, the obelisks are merely black shadows against its radiance. The obelisks are covered with ancient carvings, and it seems as if they are silent messengers, carrying the secrets hidden within these sacred symbols up into the realm of the Sun God.

I take one tentative step through the gateway, into the outer court of the temple. The air around me changes. It is cooler here. The sunlight is no longer fierce and scorching, but gentle as it filters down through the leaves of the many tall temple trees. Around me, I can see priests and women of the temple dressed in crisp robes of white and turquoise. They wear heavy golden jewellery at their ears and throats and, as they walk, I can smell the rich scent of their sacred perfume on the air.

I feel I am expected here. There is recognition on some of the faces around me. Several women shout greetings in an ancient tongue that is alien to me, but which I  understand completely. I have found, in this place, a sense of belonging, a sense of returning to a home for which I have searched throughout many lifetimes.

In the centre of this oasis of calm I can see a round pool of crystal clear water. A woman sits beside it and stares into its cool depths. Her long fingers trail across the surface, making pictures for her to interpret. I know that this scrying pool is sacred. Its placement ensures that it reflects the fire of the sun by day and the cool silver of the moon by night. I know that in this place of perfection nothing happens by chance.

I feel the pull of the inner chambers and begin to walk on towards the great doorway cut into the back wall of the courtyard. The doorway is huge and the light within is dim. It is flanked on either side by carvings of regal cats wearing earrings of thick gold, and the symbol of the udjat eye upon their chests. Their faces are serene. I can see the detail of carved whiskers on their long muzzles. Their eyes are like huge blank almonds, fixed forever on some distant place. I lower my eyes respectfully as I pass them.

Inside, the air is cool and heavy with the pungent smoke of incense. My eyes take a few moments to adjust to the darkness after the sunlight. Around me, the room is alive with the music of the goddess. Her percussion is the purr of a thousand cats, her choir a multitude of mewing kittens. Her children have made music for her here almost since the beginning of time.

The light within is dim and flickering, coming from tall candles the colour of sun-bleached straw. This is the outer shrine of Bast. I look around me and see that the room is full of cats. They lie in niches on the walls, on the floor, even draped over the feet of the statue of the Bast’s sacred cat that rears up at the back of the shrine. Some of the cats wear jewelled collars that glitter in the candle light. They are lovingly tended by barefoot women. The cats watch with lazy interest as I approach the inner shrine of their mother.

I stop for a while in front of the huge basalt statue of a seated cat, which is the sacred animal of Bast. She is tall and beautiful, her eyes inky shadows in the candle light. At her feet are many offerings. Flowers, incense, jewels and intricate carved alabaster perfume jars form a mound around her. I have flowers in my hand. They have appeared suddenly as if from nowhere. I lay them before her as I pass by.

To the right of the statue is another smaller doorway. It leads into a long corridor, lit by burning bowls of oil on the floor. I see that there are paintings on the walls, but all I can make out in the dim light are smudges of ochre and black.

At the end of the corridor is an arched portal carved in gold. As I approach it, the music becomes louder and louder. There are voices now, singing their accompaniment to the feline sounds. The music is gentle and lively at the same time. It makes me want to dance. I step through the gilded arch into the heart of Bast’s temple.

At once, my vision fills with the massive golden staircase that rears before me. The steps are covered with cats. Some sleep, some groom, while others lie watchful, petted by the hands of the priestesses.

The atmosphere here seems to vibrate with life. There is the heady scent of wine on the air and its taste is on my lips. Women dance and spin around me and I dance with them. I dance for her, that she might speak with me.

At the top of the staircase is a beautiful golden statue of the goddess as a cat-headed woman. The carving is so perfect that I can see her fur, her whiskers, the slitted pupils of her eyes. It seems so real, as if the statue were alive but sleeping. Bast wears a long, carved robe that reveals her breasts. The sculptor has captured the fluid nature of the material as it falls in golden pleats to the floor. In her hands she holds a metal sistrum and an ankh carved of lapis lazuli. Her eyes are bright crystals that glitter and shine. Around her graceful neck is a wide necklace of intricate carvings. At her feet, her children too are carved of gold, for there are tiny golden kittens playing in the folds of her dress.

I close my eyes and speak to her. The words come to me, familiar and strange at the same time. They are words that I have spoken countless times for I have always been her priestess. Other sounds seem to fade away until it seems as if there are only the two of us in the room. Slowly, I raise my eyes to look at her.

She is no longer a golden statue. She is alive, a living breathing goddess, standing before me on a staircase that is not gold but pink, polished granite. She begins to walk down the stairs towards me; the carpet of cats parts to let her through. She is smiling. Her eyes are those of a kind mother or sister; they seem to radiate light. Her dress is no longer gold but fine turquoise linen. Her sistrum makes music as she walks.