Beloved Isis,
I have been scattered, beloved. I do not know how else to say it.
When grief came, it did not take one thing. It broke me into pieces and sent them in every direction. A piece of me stayed in the hospital room. A piece of me is still at the graveside. A piece of me went into caring for everyone else and never came back. A piece of me is somewhere in the years I spent being strong. Some days I feel I am only a few of my pieces, walking around pretending to be whole.
And then I learned your story. When your beloved was torn apart and scattered across the land, you did not give up. You went searching. You walked the whole length of Egypt, weeping, gathering the pieces one by one. And when you had gathered them, you spread your great wings over what was broken and breathed life back into it.
Your tears, the Egyptians later said, made the Nile rise. Your grief became the flood that made the land green again.
I come to you as a visitor, beloved, from very far away and very long after your temples went quiet. But I know what it is to search for what was lost. I know what it is to cry until the crying becomes a kind of work.
So I have come to you, hand over my heart, to ask: help me gather myself. Not as I was, but whole again. Spread your wings over me, and breathe.
I
Her Storythe one who gathered the pieces
Isis was one of the most beloved goddesses the world has ever known. Her Egyptian name was Aset, usually read as throne, and her oldest crown was the hieroglyph for a seat of power. Later she was often shown, as in the image at the top of this letter, wearing cow's horns with the sun disk between them, a crown she came to share with Hathor.
Her great story is the story of Osiris, her husband, the good king of Egypt. In the oldest Egyptian texts and in the later telling by the Greek writer Plutarch, Osiris is murdered by his jealous brother Set. In Plutarch's version, Set first seals him in a chest and casts it into the Nile; later, he tears the body apart and scatters the pieces across the land.
Isis does not accept it. With her sister Nephthys, she searches everywhere, mourning aloud. The two sisters are pictured as kites, the birds of prey whose cry sounds like a woman weeping. Egyptian texts preserve their songs of lament, sung at funerals for centuries afterward.
Isis gathers the pieces of her beloved, one by one, and with her great wings she fans the breath of life back into him. Osiris lives again, as lord of the afterlife, and Isis conceives their son, Horus.
She did not stop grieving to begin healing. Her grief was the healing. It was what made her search.
She hides the baby Horus in the papyrus marshes of the Nile Delta to protect him from Set. There is a tender story carved on an ancient healing stone, the Metternich Stela: Isis travels with seven scorpions to guard her. A rich woman refuses to let her in; a poor fisherwoman welcomes her. The angry scorpions sting the rich woman's son. Isis hears the mother crying, and, though this woman turned her away, she lays her hands on the child and heals him, speaking the name of each scorpion. Her compassion did not depend on how she had been treated.
She was called Great of Magic, because she knew the power of words. In one story, she even learned the secret name of Ra, the sun god himself, and with it, the deepest knowledge of the world.
Her worship spread far beyond Egypt. Her temples stood in Greece and Rome, in Pompeii, and as far as Roman London. Roman sailors kept a festival in her honor each March to bless the first ships of the sailing season. Her island temple at Philae, near Aswan, was one of the very last places where the old Egyptian gods were worshipped, until it was closed in the 500s. In the 1970s, when a great dam threatened to flood it, the whole temple was taken apart stone by stone and rebuilt on higher ground. Even her temple was gathered up and made whole again.
Long after, people in Egypt kept a folk memory of her: the Night of the Drop, in early summer, when a tear was said to fall into the Nile and make the yearly flood begin.
In the image at the top of this letter, she lifts her face with her eyes closed, her hands crossed over her heart, holding the ankh, the sign of life. Great golden wings unfold behind her, and a winged figure is carved in the stone nearby. She is not grieving now. She has gathered everything, and she is breathing.
II
Her Symbolismwhere to find her
⌒The outspread wings
Isis spreads her wings to shelter and to breathe life back into what was broken. Golden wings unfold behind her in the image above. In your life, she is every embrace that held you together when you were falling apart.
☥The ankh
The sign of life, held over her heart in the image above. Isis was the giver of life back to the dead. Life can return to places that seemed finished.
▬The throne
Her name and her oldest crown. A throne is a place to sit, to rest, to hold power steady. You are allowed to sit down in the middle of your life and reclaim your seat.
∞The knot of Isis
The tyet, a looped knot like a tied sash, often carved in red stone and worn as an amulet of protection. In your life it is everything that binds you back together: friendship, routine, love, and the stories you keep telling.
◡The kite bird
Isis and Nephthys mourning as two kites, their cries like weeping women. Grief that is sung aloud, together, is lighter than grief kept silent.
≈The Nile and her tears
The Night of the Drop, when her tear was said to make the river rise. Grief became the flood that made the fields green. Your tears are not wasted.
✿The lotus
Opening around her in the image above, the white lotus of the Nile. Rooted in the dark mud, opening in the light. Even after the deepest loss, something opens again.
✦The gatherers
She is with everyone who has searched for what was lost. Everyone who sorted the belongings of someone gone, who held the family together after a death, who kept a memory alive. And with everyone slowly gathering the pieces of themselves.
III
An Intentiongathering yourself back together
When you sit with Isis, the question is not how do I get over this loss.
The question is: where have the pieces of me been scattered, and how can I begin to gather them?
Hold this gently. Grief rarely takes just one thing. It scatters us. Pieces of who we were stay behind in hospital rooms, at gravesides, in the years we spent being strong for others.
Set the intention this season to gather yourself, one piece at a time. Not to become who you were before. To become whole again, in a new shape.
And here is the deeper invitation: let your grief be the search, not the end. Isis did not stop mourning before she began healing. Her mourning was what moved her to search. The love that hurts so much is also the love that will gather you back together.
You do not have to find every piece at once. Isis walked the whole length of Egypt.
Gather what you can. Spread your wings over it. Breathe.
IV
A Visualizationunder her wings
Find a quiet place to sit or lie down. Cross your hands over your heart, the way she does in the image above. Close your eyes and let your breathing slow.
You are standing on the bank of a wide, slow river at sunset. The water glows gold and green. White lotuses float near the shore. Somewhere in the reeds, a bird calls, a high, sad cry like someone weeping.
You realize you have been searching for something along this river for a long time. Pieces of yourself, scattered. You feel how tired you are.
A woman walks toward you along the bank, crowned with horns and a golden sun, an ankh at her breast. Her face is calm, but you can see she has wept. She knows this search.
She opens her hand and shows you what she is holding: a small piece of you. Something you lost and had almost forgotten. Your laughter, perhaps. Your curiosity. Your rest. Take it back. Hold it to your heart.
She walks with you along the river, and as you walk, you find more pieces: in the reeds, on the stones, floating among the lotuses. She helps you gather them. You do not have to find them all.
When you have gathered what you can, she stops, and stands before you, and slowly spreads her arms. Great golden wings unfold from them, wide as the sky. She folds them around you.
Under her wings, it is warm and quiet. She breathes, slowly, and the movement of her wings fans a gentle breath over you. You feel the pieces settling into place. Not as they were. Whole, in a new way.
You are gathered, she seems to say. Breathe.
Stay beneath her wings as long as you need. When you are ready, feel your hands crossed over your heart, feel the floor beneath you, take a long breath, and open your eyes.
V
An Invocationto speak aloud
Isis comes from ancient Egyptian religion and was beloved across the Roman world. She is honored today by some modern Kemetic practitioners and Pagans. Speak this softly, with your hands crossed over your heart.
Isis,
Aset,
Great of Magic,
you who searched the whole length of the river
and gathered the pieces of your beloved:
I call you to this room.
I call you to the one
who has been scattered,
who left pieces of herself
in hospital rooms and gravesides
and the long years of being strong.
Help me gather what was lost.
Not as it was,
but whole again.
Let my grief be the search,
and not the end.
Spread your wings over me.
Fan the breath of life
into what I thought was finished.
Let my tears, like yours,
make something green again.
Isis,
I am being gathered.
So it is. So it is. So it is.
VI
A Ritual in Her Honorgathering the pieces
You will need · tick as you gather
IThe Setting
Place the bowl of water before you, and the empty box or bowl beside it. Float the white flower if you have one.
Cross your hands over your heart and say: Isis, I have been scattered. I have come to gather myself.
IIWhere the Pieces Went
On separate slips of paper, write the pieces of yourself you feel you have lost: my laughter, my energy, my creativity, my trust, my rest, my sense of who I am.
Beside each, if you can, write where you think it went: at the hospital, in the caregiving years, at the funeral, in that job.
IIIThe Tears
Look into the bowl of water. If tears come, let them. If you like, dip your fingers in the water and touch your eyelids gently.
Say: My tears are not wasted. Like hers, they can make something green.
IVGathering
Pick up each slip of paper, one at a time. Read it aloud, then place it in the box, saying: I gather you back.
For each piece, write on the back one small thing that might help it return: a walk, a phone call, an hour of painting, an early night.
You do not have to gather everything today. Isis walked the whole river.
VUnder the Wings
Close the box. Then stand, and slowly spread your arms wide like wings. Breathe in deeply as they open.
Fold your arms around yourself in a gentle embrace, and breathe out slowly. Do this three times, fanning breath back into yourself.
Pour the water onto a houseplant or the garden. Keep the box somewhere safe. Each week, take out one slip and do the small thing written on its back.
Use clean water only for touching your eyelids, and skip that step if your eyes are sensitive. Pour the water onto soil rather than leaving it standing. If you add a flower, choose a pet-safe one such as a white rose, and avoid lilies. If grief has left you feeling scattered for a long time, please reach out to someone you trust, a grief counselor, or your doctor. Even Isis searched with her sister beside her.
VII
A Final Wordyou are being made whole
Beloved, I want you to know this:
You may feel scattered. Pieces of you left behind in places you never wanted to be. You may wonder if you will ever feel whole again.
Isis wondered too. She walked the whole length of the river, weeping, gathering what had been torn apart.
And when she had gathered what she could, she spread her wings, and breathed, and life came back.
Your grief is not the opposite of healing. It is the love that keeps you searching. The same love that hurts this much is the love that will gather you back together.
You do not need to find every piece. You do not need to be who you were. You only need to gather what you can, a little at a time, and let yourself be held.
And remember: even her temple, when the waters rose, was taken apart stone by stone and built again on higher ground.
You are being gathered, beloved. You are being made whole again, in a new shape. Breathe.
With love and gathering, winged hands,
the one writing to you,
and the one who is also you,
and the one who was scattered
and is being made whole.
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