An Old Spell of Grief and Resurrection Whispered by Goddess Isis

About being scattered and gathered and the call to re-pattern and revive your life...

Apr 21, 2026

Today’s Muse Medicine is written in a way of listening… of flowing rivers… of streaming words…

Sometimes the Muse comes as a goddess. Sometimes a river. Sometimes she’s a cow. Sometimes she comes in strange ways. Today I let the writing write itself. I let the force of what I was writing about, write itself into being.

This Muse Medicine feels like a strange dream. An old part of me would not let this be posted. It makes little sense. But I am repatterning. Breaking habits. Carving new pathways.

I’m letting this flow toward you and I invite you to do the same with your own ideas this week. Let the prompts at the end support you. Let them carry the writing, the painting, the dance… let the Muse make music through you. Let yourself be an instrument. A channel. A wave.

What would happen if you got out of the way?

A Spell

I wake the waters of life. I stir the breath of existence. The body. The love. The lust.

The connection has been severed. Scattered. I spin around the pieces of love that I’ve gathered. Whirling. I raise my hands. I touch the soil. I serpentine my way through the desert of dreams and belonging, of tenderness and terror, of sumptuous sand. I put a spell on the sun. I raise love back to life.

Do you ever feel like who you’ve been, what you’ve created, what you’ve worked on, what you’ve given every piece of you to - has all been chopped and scattered?

The spell of resurrection is a wild whirling. And you have to learn - perhaps again and again - that bringing the beloved back to life will fashion a different form from the one you’ve known before.

It will become a mushroom. A blessing whispered through the sheets. A roar of recollection and recreation. A sprout emerging from the essence of liquidity. She will become a beetle. A fire to forge tools in. A frog to kiss. A hiss. A deck of cards. A tree. A song. They will decay and rise again through your channeled deep desires; as daisies, as daffodils, as dandelions; scattered in the wind.

He will be shaped and fashioned and chanted into form. His body will no longer be that of a man. He will resurface as a river. Flooding. Her fecundity will flourish from the waters of this stream. From the dream of what has been and now no longer.

Ancient Egyptian goddess Isis gathers the pieces of her beloved Osiris. She first finds his body whole, embedded in the trunk of a cedar tree. His body was carried by a river, by the waves of the sea, received into the arms of the earth, by the cedar.

Grieving

Isis is the goddess of grief and resurrection, of underworld journeys and regeneration, of dissolving and re-emerging, recreating. Goddess of reformation.

I heard a deep call early this year… I heard Isis whispering from the shadows of grief. Sparkling in the dark tomb of not knowing. In the graveyard of broken becomings. Fragments. In the land of longing to feel the pulse of blood and breath. From the belly of a broken heart. She said it was time to whirl around the corpse, time to send the energy up. After years deep in the underworld, it’s time to spin around the body of the beloved, of belonging, of being.

Isis wants to give her beloved’s body a proper burial. She wants a sacred funeral. But when Seth, the brother who murdered Osiris, finds out Isis rescued his body, he gets hold of it, chops it into 14 parts, and scatters it across the land.

Oh! I’ve had that happen to me so many times in the past 12 years or so. There’s a part of me that wants to properly grieve and ground and find my way through. Sacred rites of letting fucking go. And parts of my life that keep chopping and scattering, destroying and sending the pieces all over the place. Coming back from the dead - that’s the direction… and then another layer of dismemberment…

Does it sound somewhat familiar to you? Do you ever go through periods like that?

Gathering

Isis calls on her sister, Nepthys, and together they transmute into birds - into kites (a screeching bird with a piercing cry, identified as a mourning, weiling woman in Ancient Egypt). They fly over the land and look for the dismembered parts of their brother. They find all of them, except for his penis. That one was swallowed by a fish.

The source of fertility swallowed by our grandmother fish. Swallowed by our source. The cyclicality of life… the wonder of waters and fins and swimming in the sea of the unconscious…

Isis fashions a penis of pure gold and connects it to the body of Osiris that she re-assembles.

To make the masculine fertilizing power in you into an erotically golden source of seeds and pleasure and life… to wake it up…

She’s been whispering and howling and hooting, calling me to go deeper into immersion with her. Deep into grief and pleasure and magic and power. Deep into repattern, into restructure, into re-organization of self. Deep into reorienting myself around certain tendencies and stories.

Wondering

Does an archetype ever call you loudly from the folds in the dress of your life?

I keep writing and erasing this piece about something that happened this morning. It feels weird to share. I want to keep it a secret and scream it from the top of my lungs. I want to sit with it in the intimacy of my soul, and also share it with the whole world.

I did some research this morning… and found some very interesting connection between goddess Isis and the biblical character Hagar after whom I am named.

Ok I feel too weird sharing this because it feels really personal and probably not as mind blowing to anyone else but me… this stream is coming through so strongly… but I’m gonna keep to myself for now. I might be back with it in a few days, if I feel it could be beneficial for others and not just a self absorbed blurb.

Re-becoming

Once Isis resurrects Osiris, she gets one night of passion with him. He then becomes the god of the underworld. He becomes a river. The god of resurrection. And the brightest star in the sky.

She is eternally grieving. Forever whirling and spinning. Forever spreading her wings and flying. Eternally in sisterhood with Nepthys. Cyclically fertilized by the return of the flooding of the Nile, ever linked with the rising of the star, Sirius.

And she is ever becoming new. Ever creating who she is in new cultures. Ever breathing new life into the world. Spreading her wings. Spinning.

The dog star Sirius rises with the sun in the Summer. The Nile started to flood around June in ancient times.

I imagine her search for Osiris is happening right about now.

Spring has me all jingling with desire to repattern and recreate. Part of it is reclaiming myself, gathering my connection to my power. Giving less fucks. Giving more love. Discerning. Getting some wings on. Part of it is not following the forces that scatter my focus, my confidence, my sense of identity and ground. Reorienting around toxic relationships - inside and out. Part of it is pivoting.

And you???? Where does this hit you???

Prompts:

What parts of you have been scattered?
What part do you need/want to gather?
What animals, plants, and art pieces do you need to listen to right now?

What love do you hear inside?
What love calls you home?
What love wakes you up?
What language does your love speak?

What are you grieving?
What do you need to guard?
What will grow if you let it go?

Share your art, your thoughts, your channeled flow in the comments. I just let you see my stream. Now let YOUR Muse flow. And if you feel inspired, let your art show.

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