The Red Flower

By Ankh -ḥm nṯr Ḥwt-Ḥr Sḫmt | Sibylla Minervalis

It was first gifted to me by Horus 𓂀
A falcon’s eye opened, and from its light came a single red bloom, stem and bud the same deep flame. It hovered between worlds, shifting in the colours of dawn: violet, pink, cyan. Then it changed, becoming a gem in the shape of the vesica piscis; the divine meeting of two, creating the one.

Since that moment, the red flower has followed me.
It appears painted on temple walls, beside the obelisk, carved into stone, blooming in the dust of memory. I was told once that it was the lotus, the flower of rebirth, of the Sun rising from shadow; and I know now it carries the breath of Horus, the heart of Hathor, the fire of Sekhmet, the silence of Anubis, and the light of Apollo.

Each God has held a petal of it.
Each has asked me to see another side of the same truth; that the divine marriage is not between two bodies, but within the soul itself. The red flower is that bridge: the meeting of love and will, devotion and discernment, softness and power.

Its stem runs through my own story, through the wounds of the masculine within me, the lost trust, the silence, the grief.
But it continues to bloom.
Unexplained, undenied.
A reminder that even what breaks can root again, and rise.

May the red flower bloom where shadow once fell ⸙