GREATER MIDDLE EASTERN MAGICAL COMMUNITY
MESOPOTAMIAN MENTORS
IN THE MODERN AGE
Our first special guest for the Greater Middle Eastern leg of our expedition is Dr. Jacob Tupper. A veterinarian by trade, Jacob is a devotee of the deities of ancient Mesopotamia. I first met him while on a book tour at a Pagan convention in the San Francisco Bay area when he stayed around to talk with me after one of my presentations. He told me of his queerness and how that caused a rift between him and his family. Nevertheless, he found strength and support from the Mesopotamian gods, who helped him become the successful medical professional he is today. So, naturally, I brought him here on our expedition to share his story with you, showcasing how the most ancient of deities are still supporting the LGBT+ community in this day and age.
Like a lot of people, my spiritual life and my mundane one are irrevocably intertwined. I entered the services of Ishtar about seven years ago, still too young and inexperienced to know who I was and what I wanted. Like many people, I was raised in a conservative Protestant household where sexuality (especially non-heteronormative sexuality) was simply not a topic up for discussion. I was painfully shy and borderline asexual due to my upbringing, so I was thrown for a loop when this vibrant and intensely sexual goddess was like, “Imma just make myself at home here and mess around a bit. You can accept it or you can fight it. Either way, I always win in the end. ’Kay, thanks!” In working with her and her husband, Tammuz, I started to break down some serious psychological blocks and discover that I wasn’t just a picky straight dude but a bisexual one attracted to strength, confidence, and (mostly) men.
Things continued for many years with me simply not discussing my romantic life with anyone in my family. However, any secret that big is liable to get out, and my parents eventually confronted me and forced me to come out. They dove into despair and anger, lashed out at me, and for months basically stopped speaking to me unless it was necessary. At that point Ereshkigal joined her sister and brother-in-law as my patron. The three of them, through daily devotion and soul-searching, supported me and encouraged me to fight for my right to live and be happy on my own terms instead of subsisting off the scraps society deigned to throw to me. This proved to be one of the most valuable lessons I could learn, and it paved the way for pruning a number of unhealthy relationships over the years. Now I’m on much better terms with my family and the world at large, and I’m learning how to give back to the powers that supported and protected me.
Ultimately, the greatest thing I can tell anyone reading this is to keep going. Keep practicing, studying, and being who you are. If you look and leave yourself open, the people you most need will find you. It was only later that I learned of the kurgarra and the galatur, devotees of Ishtar, that were explicitly neither male nor female. As we continue to push the boundaries of what is considered “normal,” we will need a strong foundation in order to manifest the world we wish to create. For me, the ancient gods of Mesopotamia helped me cultivate such a foundation. For you, these or other gods (or no gods at all!) may give you the strength to grow your roots. No matter what speaks to you, I and everyone here wish you the best in your seeking and pray that life treats you with kindness and respect.
Blessed be.
—Dr. Jacob Tupper
PROTECTION PRAYER TO THE BAWY
Up next is the Rev. Tamara L. Siuda. In addition to being a professional Egyptologist and Coptologist (MA 2000, MA 2008, Ph.D. in process), she is the founder of the Kemetic Orthodox Religion, which is a modern practice of ancient Egyptian spirituality. She is a female king (as the Kemetic Orthodox Nisut and as a mambo asogwe of Haitian Vodou, which we will explore in an upcoming chapter), and she identifies as biracial, genderqueer, and bisexual. She founded the Marriage Militia (marriagemilitia.org) to provide advocacy and information on same-sex marriage in the USA, and she is active in LGBT+ and other human rights movements. So, without further ado, I’ll let her take the lead and explain more about ancient Egyptian queerness and give us a prayer of gratitude, survival, and balance for uncertain times.
Ancient Egyptian polytheism does not make a statement on modern LGBTQ identity. Ancient Egyptians did not discriminate against people we understand as LGBTQ, and texts describe same-sex relationships and gender difference in ways that neither highlight nor disparage. The ancients did have similar conceptions around gender binary as their contemporaries, and some things privileged men in certain spheres and women in others. However, they were not as patriarchal as contemporaries. Ancient Egyptian women had more equality, as we understand it, than any other ancient Near Eastern civilization.
However, we must acknowledge that the difference we understand in LGBTQ identity today also existed then. In some cultures this difference is considered exceptional, and such people are held up as especially powerful or magical. For the ancient Egyptians, any difference in a person, from hair color to sexuality, was notable simply because it was different. Their philosophy was based on harmony and symmetry between complementary opposites. Difference itself was a way of understanding otherness as one part of a larger whole.
In ancient Egyptian religion, two gods, Horus and Set, appear as complementary opposites. Horus, embodied as the sky whose eyes are sun and moon or as the avenging son of Osiris, represents the strength of tradition. From the eternal sky he maintains order in the form of Ma’at, the balance of justice. When something is evil or unjust, Horus restores Ma’at and provides strength and protection to those with none. Set, who is often oversimplified as evil or chaotic, does not embody constancy but the reality that, for our existence, our only constant is change. Set is also a sky god, but he manifests in storm, lightning, and desert: unpredictable, sometimes violent natural forces that keep life moving. Set is Horus’s loyal opposition: the change that keeps order from becoming stale or complacent. If Horus is a protector, Set is a challenger. Set forces us to know who we are and confront our reality. He pushes us out of comfort zones and outdated beliefs and helps us grow.
Together, Horus and Set maintain creation in a balance between same and other, tradition and change. These two gods protected the two lands of Egypt: Egypt was one country made of two lands, and humans are one being made of constancy and change. Together these gods were sometimes depicted as a single being with two heads called Bawy, “twin powers.” Today’s LGBTQ Pagans and polytheists can call upon Bawy to help us as we struggle for survival and balance. I offer this modern prayer to the ancient Bawy in gratitude for their presence in our lives.
Bawy, you who are Horus and Set,
Black land and red land, white crown and red,
Hear me as I come before you and ask your blessing.
As Horus I seek to know you and do your work,
To be and bring justice to an unjust world.
Grant me courage. Help me be true to myself.
Help me speak for the voiceless and vulnerable.
May I walk with your hand on my right shoulder, proud and strong.
As Set I seek to know you and do your work,
To be and to become everything I am.
Grant me strength. Help me know myself.
Challenge me to confront change in myself and my world.
May I walk with your hand on my left shoulder, proud and confident.
Bawy, you who are Horus and Set,
Black land and red land, white crown and red,
May I balance myself as you balance yourselves.
May I live in Ma’at as you do,
Constant and changing, as two who are one.
—Rev. Tamara L. Siuda
BISEXUAL BALANCE IN JUDAISM
Here to give more insight into growing up queer and Jewish is my friend Keren Petito. I had the honor of meeting her in college; she was a coworker of mine back at my first job on campus. Since I’m Irish-Mexican, most everyone I knew growing up was Catholic, so she was one of the first Jewish people with whom I bonded. When it came time to find an LGBT+ Jewish special guest for this book, I immediately turned to her. She was kind enough to meet us here in our expedition to share a little bit about being a bisexual woman raised in a Jewish Orthodox household and how she found the appropriate balance in her life of faith and identity.
Growing up, I never thought about my sexual identity as more than what it was. It was already assumed I’d marry a nice Jewish (Israeli preferred) man. It probably wasn’t until middle school where I started to feel some queer tendencies that I ignored or set aside. The religious aspects of my life started to become less important or relevant and I began to stray from the religious beliefs. When I came out, and most importantly when I felt comfortable with my sexual identity, I felt that I related to very little of my religion and mostly with my cultural upbringing that is associated with Judaism.
Recently I came out to my parents and siblings, and that, even more so, separated me from my religion because it separated me more from my family. My family was my outlet into Judaism. I celebrated holidays with my family and family friends, who are all Orthodox Jewish, straight, and for the most part conservative or Republican. Since I’ve come out to my family, I no longer live with them. If I were to live under their roof, I would have to live under their rules, and dating a woman or thinking about spending my life with a woman does not exactly fall in line with their rules. I now celebrate Judaism and holidays with my family and alone, but now I focus on celebrating in a more personal way—a way in which I’d realistically like to raise my children to celebrate my religion. I still visit my family for the important meals and prayer rituals, but I try to not spend the night there or go there every weekend of the month.
Now that I live on my own, I feel more inclined to practice my religion the way I want to and without any outside influences. I don’t light Shabbat candles, but I do light a memorial candle for my maternal grandfather and close family friend. I say a prayer in hopes of elevating their souls and bringing them closer to God. In Judaism it is regarded as most respectful to honor the dead, more so than the living. This is just one example of how I have kept the tradition of my religion.
Since I moved out of my parents’ house for college, I stopped keeping kosher. I still don’t eat the same foods we were taught not to eat, but I don’t follow the same rules with the food, such as mixing meat and dairy or buying specifically kosher meat. I do this out of convenience and out of lack of desire to seek out special foods. I know that, like my sexual identity, this is something my family and surrounding Jewish community would not approve of.
I find it most comforting to think about how at the end of the day, it’s me and not anyone else that I should be trying to please. I think most people forget this at times.
—Keren Petito
ISLAMIC PRAYER FOR THE LGBT+ IN LOVE
Our last special guest before we travel down into sub-Saharan Africa is Saif Mohammed. As he’ll soon tell you, growing up as a gay Muslim in India was far from easy. Nevertheless, he persisted. He never forgot who he was, and he survived it all to be the happier man he is today. So without further ado, I’ll move the spotlight over to him so he can share not only how he got through the bad times, but also a special Islamic prayer for those of us who feel our queerness destines us to be forever loveless and alone.
My name is Saifuddin Mohammed, aka Saif. I am from India and identify myself as gay and Muslim. Growing up in India in a very multicultural society, I was never very much inclined toward religion. But I was very spiritual due to the influence of my mother. Struggling about my sexuality in my teens and in early adulthood, I suffered from depression and loneliness and had very few friends. One day I happened to meet one of my close friends whom I had not met in a long time; on asking him about his long absence, he told me that he now had a girlfriend and preferred to spend time with her. On knowing this, I was very much saddened, in part due to my loneliness and due to the fact that I identified myself as gay. I thought finding a soulmate would be next to impossible in a society which was inherently homophobic.
That night I cried and prayed in my heart. I prayed that I too should find someone.
Here’s my supplication:
“Oh Allah! You are the most benevolent and merciful. Your kindness and compassion encompasses the worlds; you love all your creatures, and I am one of them. You love me so much, yet I am in pain. Please show some mercy upon me and guide me to someone who would love me and whom I shall love. I am incomplete without him. Let him complete me and let me complete him. Take away all my sorrow and fill me with happiness.
Rabbana atina fid-dunya hasanatan wa fil ‘akhirati hasanatan waqina ‘adhaban-nar.
(Our Lord, give us good in this world and in the hereafter, and protect us from the torment of the fire.)”
And my earnest prayers were answered very soon. In a fortnight I met the person whom I loved the most and who completed me.
I feel closest to Allah in my own way and not in the way in which traditional religion describes. I feel that I am very spiritual and not religious. It reminds me of what my grandma used to say: “Religion and spirituality are two totally different things; religion gets you closer to society, while spirituality gets you closer to Allah.”
Every single day I feel closer to Allah and always pray,
“Rabbana atina fid-dunya hasanatan wa fil ‘akhirati hasanatan waqina ‘adhaban-nar.”
—Saifuddin Mohammed