There are times I become Sekhmet.
She is the flipside of Bast, the Ancient Egyptian cat Goddess, and is the less docile of the feline deities. Where Bast is the nurturing Goddess of love, motherhood, nurturing and fertility, Sekhmet is not. She is the bloodthirsty lioness. Where Bast is the creatrix, Sekhmet is the destructress. Where Bast is the gentle sunlight, Sekhmet is the blazing heat that scorches the land and burns away the skin and bones of the unbelievers. They are the same, and they are opposite. Bast and Sekhmet are facets of every single one of us, and archetypal corners of the infinite.
So anyway, there are times I’m Sekhmet. This is one of those times. By remarkable coincidence, I am also premenstrual. My hormones have conspired to make me very, very, very angry about nothing I can quite put my finger on. The most innocuous misdemeanor by an oblivious bystander will offer full justification for sending me into a murderous rage. I am currently quelling the urge to set fire to everyone and everything in my path with a makeshift blowtorch, and all for no discernable reason. Oh, the joys of womanhood.
Sekhmet, as legend has it, was thwarted by alcohol. During her rampage along the Nile, burning mortals and guzzling blood, she was only stopped when the river was replaced by booze. After drinking a bit, she curled up and fell asleep, and all was right with the world.
Take heed, gentlemen. It is for this reason that I am currently pouring wine down my throat, and that if you see me this week, you should buy me a bottle for your own safety.
