This entry will go into my thoughts about my own mortality and how it ties into both my fictionkin identity and my place in Kemetic Orthodoxy.
I guess... I don’t know I guess this has cropped up again. In more detail, more frequently, needing to be put somewhere.
(And this may have been partially brought to the surface by a documentary on the Book of the Dead I watched yesterday afternoon.)
It seems, as I become more comfortable in myself, it soon turns to the thought of my mortality. Surgical complications aside, which have only bolstered this thought process, I’ve considered this before. Unfortunately, no matter how my intentions are to bring this up, my past actions are against me in that I would be questioned as to why I’d be even thinking about how I want to be treated after my death, or that I was tempting fate.
I’m not the best person, nor am I the worst of the worst, but I do often worry that for one reason or another I won’t pass Judgement, and my heart devoured by Ammit. To never exist? Terrifies me.
In this world, I obviously don’t have the same abilities or skills I used to have, there’s no way to heal myself in seconds flat, no near-instantaneous way to get rid of any pain. Did it make me feel invulnerable? To a degree, yes... even if it did endanger my life in other ways.
I’ve never wanted to be buried in one place, it just doesn’t feel right, even if my very essence wouldn’t be confined. With that brings the thought of having my ashes split, between both my family here, and to be added to the Akhu shrine, of all those Blessed Dead that have gone before me.