Sekhmet & Divine Moodiness
Sekhmet, the fierce lion-headed goddess of Ancient Egypt was the embodiment of violent wrath but her plagues and massacres are … very relatable, when you think about it.
Floating as if upon an ancient barque across the Upper Kingdom of the Library of Found Things comes a story from the Book Of The Cow Of Heaven, a royal funerary book that shows both humans and gods being as grumpy, vindictive and moody as each other.
Hathor And Her Alter-Ego
In the time before our own, when the Sun-God Re had not yet joined the Great Barque that crossed the daytime sky, humans were plotting to overthrow the god of gods.
Re had become old, so old that his bones had turned to silver, his body to gold and his hair to cool lapis lazuli. The humans saw this and they lost faith in him so they began to plot his demise amongst themselves. But Re is the all-seeing one and, given the fact that the rebels were dumb enough to make their plots in the open desert, he caught wind of their plans and started to rethink the whole idea of ruling them at all.
He called on his council in secret, so that the humans would not become suspicious, and asked them what he was to do with these creatures who were born from his own tears. His council sympathised with his plight. They understood his anger and frustration and his desire to murder every single one of those ungrateful little shits despite the fact that they were, in effect, his own children.
“Release your Eye, majesty,” they said, “you know how much the humans fear when your Eye is upon them. Release your gentle daughter Hathor and the rebels will be destroyed. Send her down to exact vengeance upon them and to remind the humans that the Throne of Heaven is yours.”
Re’s gentle, cow-headed daughter took her father’s eye and, as she travelled to the desert to confront the rebels, its unbridled fury took over her. Blinded by rage Hathor began to transform. Her elongated bovine features shortened and spread into the predatory face of a lioness. Her short grinding-teeth separated and serrated into long fangs yearning for blood.
When the humans felt her presence they scattered to the distant recesses of the desert but Sekhmet was already consumed with bloodlust. She roamed the desert day and night, hunting and butchering each of the rebels in turn. With each kill she soaked up their blood like the sand beneath their corpses and she was invigorated to find the next. Then the next, and the next, until the desert was festooned with body parts and the sands were sodden with blood.
When all the rebellious humans were dead and Sekhmet was partially sated, she returned to Re to receive his praise but Re was horrified at what he saw. He never realised the power he had unleashed. The violence, the rage, the sheer delight in revenge were of a level he never expected from his Eye and his gentle daughter Hathor. This was the work of the newly-formed Sekhmet and it was terrifying even to him.
He tried to placate her but the whites of Sekhmet’s eyes were already flashing and she was determined to return to the land of the humans to exact full revenge on that ungrateful race. Re knew that not even he had the power to rein in Sekhmet’s fury, so he devised a cunning plan.
He called for his messengers and secretly directed them to acquire copious amounts of red pigment from the Land of Yebu. When it arrived at his palace in Heliopolis, his servants ground it into a fine powder while others ground copious amounts of barley. The result was 7,000 barrels of beer the colour of blood, perfect for Re’s plan.
Sekhmet was apoplectic with bloodlust and she had decided that the rebels were merely the symptom; the disease was humanity itself. So, while she was out in the desert putting together her plans to rid the gods of these humans once and for all, Re emptied the beer onto the killing fields. Wave after wave of ersatz blood washed over the sands until they were three palms deep in the crimson liquid. Sekhmet saw the blood and bent down to look at it. She caught sight of her terrible and beautiful face and she was entranced. She cupped her hand and tasted the blood and it muddled her mind, made her forget about the humans and she returned to her father drunk and happy.
Wait, So Did Re send his Eye, Hathor or Sekhmet?
Well, all three.
You see, in Ancient Egypt one deity could take on the characteristics of another if they needed to. There is a good example of this in the myth of Re. ‘The Dying Sun God’ (aka Re at the end of the day) travels into the Underworld (below the horizon) and becomes Osiris, the green-skinned Lord of the Dead. Re does this because, although he is all powerful in the sky during the day, he has no real power over Death. Whereas Osiris, who was dismembered by his brother and resurrected by his wife, has control over and the power to undo death itself. Although gods do ask favours of other gods in Egyptian myth, sometimes it’s more expedient to take this more direct tack. Each night Re must become Osiris if he is to emerge from the Land of the Dead and provide life-giving power to the world in the form of the sun. Beneath the horizon Re is still there, merged within Osiris’ being, but for all intents and purposes, during the night, he is Osiris.
One way of looking at this concept is to think about the line from Ezra Pound’s poem “What is a god? An eternal state of mind.”
This ‘state of mind’ is a fun way to look at gods from polytheistic religions and, frankly, a much easier way of envisioning a deity than as some omnipotent, omnipresent, omnibenevolent and omni-bloody-perfect character who watches you mess up with his arms folded and a judgmental look on his face. If you imagine the Pantheon as an analogy for the Mind then all these stories become a lot more clear.
Divine Moodiness
This idea comes from an admittedly problematic poet but, as they say, even a broken squirrel finds the right time twice a day. (Or something like that, anyway.)
If you imagine a deity as a state of mind or a mood then it’s surprising how often they rear their heads up during your average day. Depending on your mood you could be said to be embodying the characteristics of a deity. You’re still yourself but, in that moment, you take on their mood.
I’ll use the ancient Greek pantheon as an example, since most people in the West are more familiar with them. You feel angry? You’re embodying Ares. You feel jealous? Hera is at the helm. Feeling a little frisky and loving? Well, that’s Aphrodite. Creative? Hephaestus, and so on. Each deity is in charge of a particular aspect of life and mood and you can even see how they function on a society-wide level in the form of their sacrifices.
You see, most sacrifices in the ancient world were propitiatory, meaning they were performed not just to be a ‘good chap / chappette’ but because you’re hoping to get something out of it. Now, if you’re desperately hoping the person you’re infatuated with looks your way, then Hephaestus is going to be as useless as a mashed potato dildo. You’ve got to get in Aphrodite’s good books. If you’re working on a particularly difficult creative project, though, that soot-covered limping wunderkind is your go-to guy!
There is a direct link between the desire for aid from a deity based on their sphere of influence and our recognition that we’re kind of similar to said deity. They get you, at least some days. Have you ever woken up and felt zen-like? Well, until the first dope on a meeting asks to ‘circle back’ to something you hoped to Re was finished. Isis gets you. Or what about when you’re staring at your boss and trying to stifle the desire to fill their mouths with boiling hot custard until it seeps out their lifeless eyes? How very Sekhmet of you.
I can’t in good conscience go as far as to say that all of this is true or ‘real’. That there’s a pantheon of gods waiting to have your back when you’re in a mood. How would I know, anyway? But I can say that there’s a Pantheon Of Moods you can refer to when wondering why it is you want to slam on your breaks in the hopes that the guy riding your tail has no airbag. That’s just Hera, darling, get yourself a glass of beer (red pigment optional) and say “Fuck this day”. Sometimes just recognising which deity your current madness is most like can be all you need to deal with it in a healthy way.
The story of Re and Hathor/Sekhmet is a bloody good example of that. ‘Naming the demon’ in terms of your moods might just help you engage your calm-thoughtful-Thoth while trying to placate your Sekhmet. This could avoid custard-related-murders all around the world.
The Problem With Eternity
A lot of stock is put in ‘consistency’ and being ‘level-headed’ when, in actual fact, these are qualities of good spoons more than they are of good humans. Humans have hormone fluctuations, they have good days, bad days, boring days; they have days in which everything appears to start out right and puff they stub their toe on a table they always hated, which toppled a glass of red wine onto a white carpet at their boyfriend’s judgemental parents’ house and fuck this day, I’m done.
The thing about polytheism is that it presents to us characters who look like us but are very different in their consistency. All through ancient times people knew that their gods weren’t perfect. They were jealous, angry, horny, mopey and that was ok. Be moody, be imperfect but most of all understand that no Pantheon ever worshipped by humans can ever encompass the cosmos of emotions you can produce in that weird, wrinkly brain of yours.
And remember, “Consistency is the virtue of small minds”.
At least, that's what I reckon, anyway.
P.S.
If you’re interested in Egyptian Mythology, get Joyce Tyldesley’s Book The Penguin Book of Myths & Legends of Ancient Egypt, you won’t regret it!