The Rite of Restoration


Come to your house, Come to your house.

Beautiful being, return to your house.

Your body awaits, renewed and ready.

Come occupy your form for your travels beyond.

 Swift and sharp is your mind, your beautiful mind.

Wit without limit, your beautiful mind.

 Strong and mighty are your limbs, your beautiful limbs.

Moving without limit, your beautiful limbs.

Clear and bright are your eyes, your beautiful eyes.

Seeing without limit, your beautiful eyes.

 Full and pink are your lips, your beautiful lips.

Speaking without limit, your beautiful lips.

Red and moist is your tongue, your beautiful tongue.

Tasting without limit, your beautiful tongue.

 Clear and soft is your skin, your beautiful skin.

Protecting without limit, your beautiful skin.

Strong and steady is your heart, your beautiful heart.

Beating without limit, your beautiful heart.

 Deep and full is your breath, your beautiful breath.

Breathing without limit, your beautiful breath.

All things are perfect within you all functions are restored within you.

Wholly perfect, wholly restored.

 Awake into this body of light, justified spirit, your trials are passed.

The measure is made, the weight is balanced.

 As a new Being you go forth in the daytime, you go forth in the Light.

As a new Being you go forth in the nighttime, you go forth in the Night.

Go forth, Beloved one,

Isis is before you,

Nephthys is behind you,

Anubis guides you,

Osiris welcomes you, may he give you cool water to drink.

 Until rebirth you shall remain an honoured guest at his table.

At the Table of Osiris you take your seat.

Whole and Perfect among the Blessed,

You take your seat.

“Rite of Restoration” from Regula, deTraci. The Mysteries of Isis (Llewellyn Publications; 1996) 125-6.


After last week’s workshop on the skull, death and the ancestors, which I recently wrote about; it is by sheer coincidence that I spent the day today at the hospital, in a palliative care unit, by the side of and old family friend who is quite quickly leaving this realm, moving into the Duat/Summerland/Otherworld/Elysian Fields.

This individual’s health has been on a downhill slope for a while now, so to say that the call from my mother a few days ago telling me that this person has been admitted into palliative care, came as a surprise – would be a lie.

My mother has been terribly affected by the turn of events, partly due her own trials she has faced this year, but also by the fact that this person has been one of her longest running friends, here on this foreign land. For all intended purposes, she has been an aunt to my sister and I given that she has known my family for as long as I can remember being in Australia. She is also of Chilean extraction, so the reference points on culture and history was also easily made between our families through the years.

That is not to say that the friendship was always a healthy one. In life my aunt, was jealous, superficial, and quick to judge anyone whom she thought lower then her, despite that she had come from nothing back in Chile. At times her poison was directed at my mother, and our family. But for lack of other longstanding connections here, my mother and her would inevitably gravitate to one another and continue their friendship dance.

And so it was with ambiguous hearts that my sister and I headed towards the hospital ward where our Aunt is admitted.

She looks so fragile, so small, and so different from the woman that we both knew in life. I say in life, not because I am being disrespectful, because though I could still feel her life force as I sat by her bed holding her hand, she is no longer wholly inhabiting this world. Her soul is leaving her body. It is just a pity the departure is causing her such pain.

Having what the group had spoken about and shared at Beltane Camp as we molded our skulls in the clay, I was frustrated by the blatant denial that was being expressed by my aunt’s children.

As we engaged in small talk, none of them would acknowledge the big elephant in the room – the fact that their mother was dying before their very eyes and they were doing nothing to prepare for it, nor prepare their mother for her passing.

This sounds quite harsh on my part. Who am I to judge how others grieve for their loss? As my sister says (she is qualified to do so – as counselor and psychologist who has worked with grief and loss) grief is the only emotional process that cannot be pathologised.  Each individual will deal with their loss in their own way, and each way is correct.

But as I sat in that sterile emotionless ward, I recalled what we had spoken about. How the over-culture at every twist and turn of our lives attempts to silence our conversation about death, to numb us to the very realities of death. It is so powerful that even when death is staring us in the face, as we watch it slowly take what we love so dearly, we are unable to talk about it. We don’t have the words….

Or if we do, we have no syntax; no grammar to string sentences together, to attempt to comprehend what is happening before our very eyes.

isis_osirisSo as I sat by my dying aunt, holding her hand I said a short pray to the gods of the underworld, to help her in her final journey, and ease the pain that she feels.

May Osiris give her call water to drink once she reaches her final destination. May the  Gods and Goddesses of the underworld ease her pain as  she transitions  into her role as an ancestor.

I began to think how I would react when it is my mother’s time leaves this world. What I would do. My sister was thinking the same thing as we discovered on our train ride home. We had a serious conversation about our own deaths, how we would like to think we will deal with our own dear mothers death, and how we can start preparing for it now, rather than later.

This might come across as morbid, but I feel it is a natural thing to air given that death is inevitable. After what I experienced last week, I feel this is the perfect time to put in practice what was shared….

It was only as my sister, mother and I left, and for me to return as an after thought, to speak quite candidly to one of my aunt’s daughters about the legal administration nightmare that comes with dying without a valid will or a power of attorney; did I see the realization in her eyes. The realization that what was happening was real. That it could not be taken “away” and dealt with by another.

It was only fleeting though. I hugged her and I as walked away, and she, back in the room where her mother was, I overheard ask her sister about a Kardashin.

At the Table of Osiris you take your seat.

Whole and Perfect among the Blessed,

You take your seat.



This entry was posted in Death, Isis, Life, Musings, Offering, Osiris, Personal and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The Rite of Restoration

  1. Pingback: Happy New Year! | wherethelotusflowergrows

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