HathorThe Golden One

Beloved Golden One,

I forgot how to be delighted, beloved. I did not notice it leaving.

Grief does that. So does carrying everyone. The days fill up with the necessary things, the phone calls and the lists and the hard conversations, and somewhere in there, music stops being something I listen to and becomes background noise. Dancing becomes something other people do. Laughter becomes something I perform so that no one worries.

And then I met you. The Golden One. Goddess of music and dancing and love and drunkenness and joy, crowned with a cow's gentle horns and the sun between them. A goddess whose priestesses shook rattles and sang. A goddess whose whole temple was built for celebration.

I thought, at first, that you were too light for me. That a goddess of joy could not understand a heart like mine, so heavy for so long.

Then I learned that you were also the one who met the dead. Lady of the Sycamore, waiting in the shade of a tree at the edge of the desert, holding out water and bread to every soul who arrived tired from the journey. You know grief. You simply refuse to let it be the only thing.

And I learned that once, when the great sun god sulked and turned his face away and refused to go on, it was you who came to him and made him laugh, and the world began moving again.

So I have come to you, beloved, with my hand on my heart and a lotus in my hand. Teach me to laugh again. Teach me that joy is not a betrayal of what I have lost.

I

Her Storythe golden one

Hathor was one of the most beloved goddesses in all of ancient Egypt, worshipped for well over two thousand years. Her name, Hwt-Hor, means the House of Horus. She was the sky itself, the house in which the falcon god of the sun lived and flew.

She was often shown as a woman wearing a crown of cow's horns with the sun disk resting between them, as in the image at the top of this letter. Sometimes she appeared as a cow herself, gentle and great, or as a woman with a cow's ears. The cow, for the Egyptians, was the image of tender, nourishing motherhood, and Hathor was a mother to kings, who were sometimes shown drinking milk from her.

She was the goddess of joy in all its forms: music, dancing, love, beauty, celebration and the pleasures of the body. Her worshippers shook the sistrum, a sacred rattle whose metal discs shimmered like rustling papyrus, and the menat, a heavy beaded necklace that chimed as it moved. Egyptian love songs call on her as the Golden One, and lovers prayed to her for luck.

She was also a goddess of turquoise and of faraway places. In the mountains of Sinai, where the Egyptians mined turquoise, they built her a temple at Serabit el-Khadim and called her the Mistress of Turquoise.

And she was a goddess of the dead. In the cemeteries of Thebes, she was the Mistress of the West, the land of the setting sun where the dead were buried. As the Lady of the Sycamore, she was pictured in the branches of a great tree at the edge of the desert, pouring out water and holding out food to the souls who arrived there, tired from their journey. The goddess of joy was also the first kind face the dead would see.

There is an old Egyptian story, the Contendings of Horus and Seth, in which the gods argue in court for years. At one point the great sun god Ra, insulted and weary, leaves the court, goes to his tent, and lies down alone, refusing to go on. The whole order of the world is stalled.

Then Hathor comes to his tent. With a bold and playful gesture, she makes him laugh. And the sun god gets up, returns to the court, and the world begins moving again.

Sometimes the most sacred thing anyone can do is make someone laugh again.

Hathor's great temple at Dendera still stands, one of the best preserved in Egypt, with a painted ceiling of the sky goddess Nut and the stars stretched across it. Every year her statue traveled by boat up the Nile to Edfu for the Festival of the Beautiful Reunion, to visit the temple of Horus, with music and feasting all along the river.

She was even part of the story of Sekhmet. In the Book of the Heavenly Cow, it is Hathor who is sent out as the Eye of Ra, and who becomes the raging lioness, until she drinks the red beer and returns home gentle. Egyptians remembered that story in a festival of music and celebration, as if to say: the fierce one and the joyful one were never far apart.

In the image at the top of this letter, she floats on golden water among lotuses and hibiscus, her eyes closed, a lotus glowing in the hand over her heart, a gentle cow resting its head against her shoulder. A golden harp and an ankh drift nearby. She is not working. She is not carrying. She is simply delighted.

II

Her Symbolismwhere to find her

III

An Intentionletting joy back in

When you sit with Hathor, the question is not am I allowed to be happy.

The question is: where has joy been waiting for me, and what would it take to let it back in?

Hold this gently. After grief, after long seasons of carrying others, many of us feel guilty when joy returns. As if laughing means we have forgotten. As if delight is disloyal to the ones we have lost.

Hathor knew the dead. She met them under the sycamore tree with water and bread. And she was still the goddess of music, dancing and love. Grief and joy lived in the same goddess. They can live in you too.

Set the intention this season to let joy back in, a little at a time. One song. One dance in the kitchen. One evening with people who make you laugh.

And here is the deeper invitation: let joy be sacred, not frivolous. In Hathor's temples, music and dancing were prayers. Delight is not the opposite of devotion. It can be the heart of it.

The sun god laughed, and the world began to move again. So can yours.

IV

A Visualizationthe river of gold

Find a comfortable place to sit or lie down. If you like, play soft music with no words. Place one hand over your heart. Close your eyes and breathe slowly.

You are lying on warm, golden water, floating easily, the way you might float in a calm pool on a summer afternoon. Sunlight sparkles across the surface. Lotus flowers drift around you, pink and white, and the air smells faintly sweet.

Somewhere nearby, you hear music: the soft shimmer of a rattle, the plucked notes of a harp, a woman's voice humming a melody you almost recognize.

You turn your head and see her floating beside you, crowned with golden horns and a sun disk, her dark hair spreading through the water. A gentle cow rests its head against her shoulder. Her eyes are closed. She is smiling.

She does not ask you what is wrong. She already knows. She simply hums, and the music moves through the water into your body.

You notice your shoulders softening. Your jaw unclenching. Something in your chest that has been tight for a very long time begins, just a little, to loosen.

Then, unexpectedly, you feel a smile. Maybe it is only at the corners of your mouth. Maybe it is a small laugh, rising up out of nowhere. Let it come. She has been waiting for it.

She opens her eyes and looks at you, delighted. She places a glowing lotus in your hand. It is warm, and light, and it smells like summer.

You remember, she seems to say. Joy was never gone. It was only resting.

Float as long as you like in the golden water, with the music and the lotus and the warm light. When you are ready, feel your hand on your heart, feel the floor beneath you, take a long breath, and open your eyes, still smiling if you can.

V

An Invocationto speak aloud

Hathor's temples are long quiet, though she is honored today by some modern Kemetic practitioners. Speak this aloud, and if you feel like it, sing it.

VI

A Ritual in Her Honorthe rattle and the mirror

Keep your homemade rattle closed tightly, and out of reach of pets and small children, since dried rice and lentils can be a choking hazard. Choose a pet-safe flower; roses and tropical hibiscus are gentle choices, and avoid lilies. Choose juice or a sweet treat rather than alcohol, and keep chocolate and sugar-free sweets away from pets. Dance only in a way that feels safe for your body, with clear floor space. And if joy has felt out of reach for a long time, please talk with someone you trust or your doctor. That is a kind and brave thing to do.

VII

A Final Wordjoy is not a betrayal

Beloved, I want you to know this:

Joy is not a betrayal of grief. It never was.

Hathor stood under the sycamore tree and held out water to the weary dead. And she was the goddess of music and dancing and love. She held both, for thousands of years, and the Egyptians loved her for it.

When the sun himself turned his face away and refused to go on, she came and made him laugh, and the world began to move again.

You have carried so much, for so long. You may have forgotten what it feels like to be delighted. That does not mean delight is gone. It means it has been waiting, patiently, for you to have room for it again.

Shake the rattle. Play the song. Dance badly in the kitchen. Look in the mirror and smile at the person you see.

The ones you have lost would want you to laugh again. So does she.

Let the Golden One make you laugh, beloved. Let your world begin to move again.

With love and gold-dusted, dancing hands,
the one writing to you,
and the one who is also you,
and the one who is learning,
slowly, to laugh again.