70 Day Prayers for Bowie

70 day prayers for Bowie

Offerings of bread, honey liqueur, water, and incense.

A thousand of bread, a thousand of beer,
A thousand of every good and pure thing on which a god lives.
Go, rise, return to the starry heavens.
Shine out from the belly of Nut on the horizon.
May you go well with the gods in peace.

A thousand of every good thing

Surrounded by immortals. Represented: Hekate, Nit/Neith, Set, Masrai, Artemis, Anubis, Dionysis, Antinous Kernunnos, Bast, and Hermes.

Bowie surrounded by immortals. Represented (beginning left and circling right): Hekate, Nit/Neith, Masrai and Bast, Set, Anubis, Antinous, Kernunnos, Artemis, Dionysis, and Hermes. The plate at the front with the bi pride band has pennies for the dead. Because I am that sort of traditional when it comes to ancestor shrines. There must be pennies for the dead.

It hardly feels enough. Sometimes, I worry about my shrine-building propensity. But once I thought about adding one queer and/or liminal god, gods of margins and boundaries, to a theoretical shrine, They all wanted to get involved. Set thinks this is more important than Wep Ronpet, hence He is here, and not on top of the naos with His siblings. Wep Ronpet happens every year; this happens only once. Or so He says.

I guess this is staying up for the next 68 days. At least my heart is a little calmer. I’ve done something, even if it feels inadequate. It feels like the sort of thing only gods can handle. But perhaps even a little something is better than nothing.

A black candle in a starry cradle to light the way, a blue bird to rise to the heavens, and a bed of sweet incense that you may be surrounded by the sweet perfume of the gods. May cool water aid your flight. May you never thirst.

Death is for lesser mortals: Vale, David Bowie

I still don’t really know what to say. It still doesn’t feel real. I actually didn’t realise how much I cared about him, and loved him, until he wasn’t there anymore. So many others are more articulate than me, and probably have a better sense of what to write about him. But I just have no words. I’m just drowning in his music, and crying. It seems to help, just a little.

I probably never struck anyone as a Bowie fan. I generally kept that to myself. I got into him late, and never really dived in and obsessed about him the way others did. But I always liked his music. I admired him as a storyteller, and a musician, and someone who could do things I could never imagine. His music moved me, and amazed me, and made me dance and smile. I adored his queerness. And I adored Labyrinth. And now he’s not there anymore, and it doesn’t feel real. I think I was another person who felt he was somehow immortal. Bowie doesn’t just die. It just. My heart is breaking.

But only Bowie could say goodbye like that. What a way to go. I picked up Blackstar only a couple of hours before I found out he’d died. And it really is a magnificent album, particularly listening to it now. It’s glorious. What a way to die. My gods.

And so the 70 days begins. 68, if I count from the 10th. I may build a tiny shrine. I may write something. I don’t know. Nothing seems adequate to mark his passing. But I’ll still count the days, and perhaps by the time I get to the prayers, it won’t hurt as much as it does now.