I keep circling back to the idea that we don’t really own our awareness.
We experience it. We sit inside it. We build entire identities around it. But what if consciousness isn’t something we generate on our own… what if it’s something we’re temporarily holding?
Borrowed light.
Moonlight. Not created, but reflected. Not permanent, but constantly shifting depending on what it passes through.
It makes me think about how quickly our inner world can change. One moment we’re certain of who we are, what we believe, where we’re going. The next, something disrupts that clarity and we’re left questioning the shape of everything we thought was stable.
If consciousness is borrowed, then maybe identity is too.
That doesn’t make it less real. It makes it more fluid.
I think about creativity a lot in this context. As a writer and content creator, there are moments where ideas feel fully mine, and moments where it feels more like translation—pulling something forward from somewhere I can’t fully name. A signal caught at the right frequency.
Even in gaming, I notice the same pattern. Those moments when everything clicks—reaction, instinct, timing—and thought falls away. It becomes flow. Action without hesitation. Response without noise.
Then I think about spirituality.
Many traditions describe consciousness as something universal rather than individual. Something shared. Something we move through rather than contain.
Sometimes I wonder how that connects to rebirth—or to the experience people describe when they step outside their body and observe themselves from somewhere else entirely.
Whether it’s called astral projection, an out-of-body experience, or something beyond our current language, it all seems to point toward the same mystery.
That awareness doesn’t feel strictly bound to the body. It feels able to shift, expand, continue.
Not created in us, but passing through us.
If that’s true, then what we call life may be one temporary expression of something that existed long before us—and will continue long after.
If we’re not the source of the light, what does that mean for how we live?
Do we treat it differently?
Do we guard it more carefully?
Or do we learn to let it move through us without trying to hold it still?
I don’t know the answer.
But it changes the way I look at silence.
At thought.
At the space between who I was and who I’m becoming.
Maybe consciousness isn’t something we own.
Maybe it’s something we’re trusted with.
For a little while.
Discover more from Papyrus of xAnubisx
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
In my recent forays and discussion with Kemetic Deities, I’ve been reminded that as humans, it’s our responsibility to remember that our journey is back to the Light, to always aspire to transcendency. My experiences with Sobek and Anubis in particular have always been, “You’re human, you’re gonna fail, but it’s our responsibility to remind you that you must always keep finding your way back to the stars, to the light within and the light without.”
This does not surprise me in the slightest with my way of thinking. Yoda himself said “Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter,” and that’s stayed with me since I saw _The Empire Strikes Back_ in the theater when it was first released in 1980. As I fought my way out of the Southern Baptist cult, Yoda’s words gave me strength.
As a professional musician, there are moments I’ve had during performances where I know the Light passed through me, used me in the performance, and moved on. Call it Light, call it Flow, call it a shared experience of consciousness, I don’t know what it is exactly, but I know I’ve had it, and it is truly rare.
I connect with this deeply, though I experience it through a Kemetic and Egyptian magical path. To me, the gods don’t expect perfection—they expect honesty, discipline, and the willingness to rise again after every fall. Anubis reminds me to face my own shadow without fear, while Sobek teaches that even our raw, untamed nature has purpose when it’s brought into balance.
My practice of Egyptian witchcraft isn’t about escaping being human. It’s about aligning my *ka*, *ba*, and spirit with Ma’at so each ritual, offering, and act of will becomes another step toward that divine spark we all carry. The stars aren’t just above us—they’re reflected within us. Every time I stumble, the Work begins again, because the path itself is sacred.
I believe the gods light the way, but it’s our responsibility to walk it with intention, magic, and reverence. Every spell, every prayer, every offering is another reminder that we’re not meant to remain in darkness—we’re meant to remember who we are and return to the eternal Light.
I am very, very new to Kemetic practices, as I’ve shared with you, but in my short experience with Them, Sobek being the first for me, this sentence you wrote rings so very true for me: “Every time I stumble, the Work begins again, because the path itself is sacred.”
What I didn’t expect, when I invited in Sobek, and then Anubis and Sekhmet (well, She invited Herself in, I really didn’t have much to say about it), was the overwhelming SUPPORT and LOVE, even when I stumble, which is pretty much every danged day. And yes, as I do my own daily rituals with intent and heart and soul and intention, the Work begins again, because the path itself is sacred. All my lessons here of late have been this very theme.
I am both wistful and blessed to have found this path with these Gods, here in the last 30-40 years of my life.
Oh, and one other thing which I forgot to write down in my last response: I have never had deities before that want me fully immersed in my own messy human life, like the Kemetic deities do. They want to walk with me, through me, be a fully and intensive part and parcel of everything I do, everything I create, sew, play on the piano, fart around with on the laptop, cook in the kitchen, clean, love, get cranky with, etc. This is new and has been unsettling in various portions of my life, but yet, here I am, doing just that, learning to let everything I do and think and be sacred. It takes my breath away thinking about this.