The first time I met Heru while in meditation, I met him from the inside. I felt what he felt. I saw what he saw. I wore his clothes. I said his words. I knew that it was him, and not me, performing those actions because the situation was foreign to me.
From that moment on, we were inseparable. No, not really. I ran away, partly because I knew how crazy that sounded, and partly because He wasn’t in a good mood at the time.
Much later, I discovered that it really wasn’t that uncommon for Kemetics to take on the roles of various deities in their magic. Some spells have the speaker jumping around, claiming to be several gods within the same verse! In later times, up into the present, it would become unthinkable to make such grandiose claims. But they did it back then.
You could say that those magicians had egos of incredible size. I’m sure that some of them did. You could say that it was a form of sympathetic magic. If I say that I’m DeityX and that I’m doing Y, then maybe DeityX will really do Y for me. Neither one of those explanations apply in the example I gave above. It just happened. If anything, such an experience calls the ego into some serious question. If I’m not always “me,” then what is “me?” This is starting to sound a little bit Buddhist. Was I a human dreaming about being a god, or is the god dreaming about being a human? (Exchange “god” for “butterfly” if you like.)
Common wisdom states that each person is an individual, “one who can’t be divided.” That definition doesn’t really apply to Kemetic deities. Heru once chopped off his hands, and they got along just fine without him for awhile. (That story always has me picturing Thing and his twin scampering along the bed of the Nile and harassing passing swimmers.) Kemetic deities can be divided. They can also merge together. They can shift and change.
Egos are extremely invested in the idea of individuality. I try not to be too hard on the poor thing. It’s mainly concerned with self-preservation, which is a worthy goal. It just doesn’t stand up very well under the light of mystical experience. My definition of the word “I” has gotten soft. Soft like a comfy old couch that He sometimes rests upon, like a house guest who doesn’t leave. Sometimes my ego wants its couch back.