Tuesday, January 27, 2026

Have You Been Hurt? When Spiritual Paralysis Feels Permanent

 

A brief reflection on different kinds of paralysis, and why your hurt qualifies you for healing

We talk a lot about faith. About believing God. About trusting the process.

But what happens when you’re too hurt to move forward? When has paralysis paralyzed you? When you know Jesus can heal, but you can’t seem to get to Him by yourself?

I learned in Mark Chapter 2, there’s a man who faced this exact reality. He was “taken with a palsy” in other words, paralyzed. The man was not born that way. Something happened to him overnight or overtime. And suddenly, the man who could once walk… couldn’t.

This is a meditation on spiritual paralysis. On being stuck. On needing help you can’t ask for.

If you’re stuck or barely holding on right now, this is for you.

Photo by Žygimantas Dukauskas on Unsplash

THEY LET HIM DOWN BECAUSE HE WAS HURT

Scripture Reading: Mark 2:3–5

“And they come unto him, bringing one sick of the palsy, which was borne of four. And when they could not come nigh unto him for the press, they unclosed the roof where he was: and when they had broken it up, they let down the bed wherein the sick of the palsy lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said unto the sick of the palsy, Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.” (Mark 2:3–5, KJV)

We tend to hyperfocus on the people who brought the man in. We love talking about the four friends. The ones who tore up the roof. We love the story about Jesus, the great doctor who never lost a patient.

But we forget about the man.

I had to look at the verse again. The Bible says he was “taken with a palsy.” Paralyzed.

And there are a few things that arrested my attention as I read this. I realized. 

They let him down because he was hurt.

The man was taken with a palsy. Hewas not born with it. Taken by it.

If I can use my deductive reasoning, the Bible would have been clear if he was born this way. 

Just like it says about the man who was “born blind” — Blind Bartimaeus.

 Just like it says about the man who was “lame from birth.”

But this text says he was taken with a palsy.

He became paralyzed.

This leads me to believe that this man wasn’t always this way. He wasn’t diagnosed with this at birth. His momma didn’t get the news at the hospital. He didn’t spend his childhood in and out of doctors’ offices.

This happened to him.

Overnight or overtime. By accident or on purpose.

One day, he could walk. The next day, overnight, or overtime, he couldn’t.

This man may have been:

  • The head of his household… until he was taken with palsy
  • Making good money… until he was taken with palsy
  • A college graduate, a CEO, a man with influence and resources… until

Until he was taken.

It took over him. Took over his body. Took over his mind. Took over his life.

They let him down because he was hurt.

Photo by Zohre Nemati on Unsplash

WHEN LIFE TAKES YOU

Let me turn the corner for a minute. Somebody here might be reading this and was taken with their own personal paralyzing experience.

You came to this with a spiritual or emotional paralyzing condition. A spiritual debilitating disorder. A devastating situation. An overwhelming problem.

When life is “be lifing.”

If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And it’s so much that it’s paralyzing you.

You find yourself stuck. Can’t move. Can’t see your way forward. Can’t imagine things ever being different. I have a question for you.

Have you ever been hurt?

I know these aren’t for everybody. But I wrote this one for one or two of us who need to understand.

Be honest

Have you been hurt?

Maybe you’ve been paralyzed by something that happened overnight. It was sudden. Unexpected. You didn’t see it coming.

Or maybe it happened overtime. Slowly. Gradually. Like a frog in boiling water — you didn’t notice how bad it was getting until you couldn’t move anymore.

It might have happened:

  • By accident (you didn’t ask for this)
  • Or on purpose (someone intentionally hurt you)

But either way, it took over your life.

Photo by 愚木混株 Yumu on Unsplash

DIFFERENT KINDS OF SPIRITUAL OR EMOTIONAL PARALYSIS

This man in the story was paralyzed physically. His body wouldn’t work.

But let me ask you: What kind of paralysis are YOU dealing with?

Some of us are paralyzed by bad decisions.

  • Choices we’ve made that can’t be undone
  • Consequences we are still living with
  • A past that won’t let us go
  • I guess it’s just me

Some of us are paralyzed by abuse.

  • Physical, emotional, verbal, sexual
  • Things that were done TO you, not BY you
  • Scars that won’t seem to heal

Some are paralyzed by bad relationships.

  • Divorce that devastated you
  • Breakup that broke you
  • Betrayal that left you unable to trust

Some are paralyzed by grief.

  • Lost someone you love
  • A hole in your heart that won’t close
  • Tears that won’t stop falling
  • Going through all the “what if’s”

Some of us are paralyzed by fear.

  • It happened before, so we are afraid it’ll happen again
  • Can’t move forward because we are terrified of getting hurt again
  • Stuck between what was and what could be

Some are paralyzed by depression.

  • Can’t get out of bed
  • Can’t see the point
  • Can’t imagine things getting better

Some of you are paralyzed by anxiety.

  • Constant worry
  • Racing thoughts
  • Panic that won’t let go

Some of us are paralyzed by a broken heart.

  • Loved someone who didn’t love you back
  • Wasted time
  • Wasted years
  • Gave everything and got nothing
  • Trusted someone who betrayed you

Some of you are paralyzed by rejection.

  • Passed over for the promotion
  • Left out of the circle
  • Made to feel like you don’t matter

Whatever your paralysis is — physical, emotional, mental, spiritual — it’s real. And it hurts.

They let him down because he was hurt.

Photo by Pablo Heimplatz on Unsplash

BEFORE WE MOVE ON…

We must understand that paralysis in Scripture is never treated as a moral failure.

The man in Mark Chapter 2 is not corrected for his inability to move.

He is not interrogated about his faith.

He is not asked why he didn’t try harder.

He is carried.

Be encouraged my friend. If you’re stuck right now, emotionally, spiritually, or relationally. It may not be because you lack faith. It may be because you’ve been holding yourself up for so long that your soul finally said, 

“I can’t do this alone anymore.”

That’s not backsliding. That’s honesty.

And honesty is often the first step toward healing.

His paralysis does not show any indication that he did not believe in Jesus.

He was paralyzed, not faithless. There is a big difference.

Photo by Nik Shuliahin 💛💙 on Unsplash

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CAN’T AND DON’T

But I would be wrong if I only focused on the paralyzed man. Because there were other people in this story.

His friends.

And here’s where it gets complicated. Here’s where it gets real.

Have you ever been let down?

Not let down to Jesus (we’ll get to that tomorrow). I mean let down in the bad way.

Let down by:

  • A friend you trusted
  • A family member you counted on
  • A spouse who promised forever
  • A church that should have cared

Let me park the car for a minute. (I promise to keep the motor running.)

There’s a difference between “can’t” and “don’t.”

Your momma had bills to pay, so she can’t buy you that game. Your daddy had to work overtime, so he couldn’t make it to your recital.

That’s can’t. They wanted to, but circumstances prevented it.

But then there’s don’t.

Don’t is when they could help you, but they choose not to.

They can get you out, but they don’t. They have the resources to help, but they don’t. They have the hookup, but they don’t make the call.

Have you ever been let down by people who COULD help you but DIDN’T?

  • Betrayed by someone close to you
  • Abandoned when you needed them most
  • Discarded like you didn’t matter
  • Looked over when you should have been chosen
  • Passed over when it was your turn
  • Left out when you should have been included

Have you ever been:

  • Misled (they sent you the wrong direction)
  • Misguided (they gave you bad advice)
  • Mishandled (they treated you carelessly)

That kind of let down is paralyzing too.

Because now you’re not just dealing with the original hurt. You’re dealing with the hurt of being hurt again. This time by people who were supposed to help you.

Let’s be honest: when people have let you down, self-reliance starts to set in. So much and so often that it feels spiritual. It feels as if this burden is a part of your calling.

Not because it is. But because it feels safe!

Am I talking to you?

You learn to stop asking. You build walls instead of roofs. You protect yourself by needing less. And asking for less.

Why?

Because you do not want to be a burden to others.

Then somewhere along the way, you convince yourself that independence is spiritual maturity.

Photo by Miguel Bruna on Unsplash

BUT HERE’S THE GOOD NEWS

Let me pause for a public service announcement:

Every let down was putting you in the proper position to get the only help you need.

Read that again.

Every let down was putting you in proper position to get the only help you need.

Yes, it was hurtful. Yes, it was paralyzing. Yes, it was debilitating, embarrassing, and problematic. I toohad to learn this!

But now you’re in the right position.

When family let you down, you ended up before Jesus.

When friends abandoned you, you ended up in the place where the power of the Lord is present.

When people who should have helped you didn’t, God was positioning you to receive help from the One who can’t fail you and won’t leave you.

They let him down because he was hurt.

But here’s what I want you to see: His hurt was the very reason he needed to be let down to Jesus.

If he wasn’t hurt, he wouldn’t have needed healing.

If he could walk on his own, he wouldn’t have needed to be carried.

If he had it all together, he wouldn’t have needed friends to tear up a roof for him.

Your hurt qualifies you for healing.

Not disqualifies. Qualifies.


CONCLUSION

If prayer feels heavy right now, that doesn’t mean God is distant.

It may mean your soul is asking for the kind of help the paralytic needed — to be carried by others who still have strength when yours is gone.

Long prayers might feel impossible right now. Elaborate words might not come. And the silence you used to fill with faith might just feel… silent.

That’s okay.

You don’t have to pray like you used to in order to be heard. It doesn’t have to be deep.

Sometimes the most faithful prayer is the simplest one:

“Lord, I’m here but I’m tired.”
“Lord, I need you!”
“Lord, I am hurt!”

He hears that. And He can and will help.

Talk to you later

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Interested in exploring the depths of history, education, or religion through engaging articles? I’d love to contribute my expertise as a freelance writer.
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Thursday, January 15, 2026

Losing People Hurts: Lessons in Loss

Fam, I’m not going to sugarcoat this one. Last year, the author was developing work and writings to return home to blogging. However, last summer life took a turn.


Photo by Louis Galvez on Unsplash

At the beginning of summer, my mother-in-law received the news that after having a blackout out she had stage 4 lung cancer. As well as brain tumors. So last summer, my family and I went through all the cycles. Not to mention, we had to move her out of her apartment into my sister-in-law’s home.

It is when the breathing machines came or when she began her hair. Showed us the grim reality of her illness.

  • Yes she’s resilient 
  • Yes she’s an independent woman 
  • Yes she’s a go-getter 

But this is different. She went from walking on her own to being in a wheelchair to barely moving.


Photo by Abigail on Unsplash

We thought we had more time

Then late September came. She took a turn for the worse. On a Friday afternoon, my wife (as her eldest daughter) had to make the hardest decision to fill out the paperwork for hospice. Even at that moment ,we thought we had more time.

I went into her room and prayed…

Then Sunday morning came 

She was gone.

In the coming weeks, we had to say our goodbyes. 

  • The paperwork 
  • Visits
  • Random phone calls
  • And the cliches 

Some people don’t understand that some catch phrases may sound good but are hurtful. I know they mean well. But…

Not right now

People do not understand that in those moments, all we need is a hug.

Not to mention my dear Aunt on my mother’s side passed away in August. A week after school started. She succumbed to dementia.

Photo by Julia Kadel on Unsplash

Needless to say in moments like these I was called upon to either officiate or say a few words.

Also, to keep your voice from trembling while they’re lowering your loved one in the ground is one of the saddest and most difficult moments in my life.


Photo by Kamsin Kaneko on Unsplash

Lessons in loss

We don’t want them in pain. We want them out of the hospital. But what quality of life will they have? So yes, we want them healed. In this process, this is what I’ve learned. We want them healed. However, their healing may come in the way we may not want. God knows healing will come in the form that they need it most.

After all of this, I had to reach out to some close friends. I had to finally be honest and say 

This is hard 

Another lesson is to tell a good friend. Gives you a chance to heal. My youngest son, Josh (who took it the hardest), has come to my classroom. I would be doing teacher stuff. But I learned to allow space for him to grieve and to let him know he is still loved. And it’s ok to be sad.

 Give you some time to live. Since last fall, I took the time to have fun. I also enjoyed the new life that has come to our family. I have a baby nephew who has been a blessing to me. Also, my family has gotten together more, especially on Sundays.

My friends, you will go back to work. Yes, you will go back to school. Don’t rush it. Work will be there. But live! 


Conclusion 

At this time, I had to step back and love my family. Be ok with being sad at the moment. Reach out to friends. Enjoy a new life. Embrace the times we are in and be in the moment. Even at school, I admitted to my colleagues and students that this has been rough. 

In this time of grief, I intentionally and gradually returned. I know this may seem like I am rambling. I apologize for being silent, but I had to share. It’s time to continue the work of writing and education. So here we are.

Talk to you later…

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Moving On Doesn't Mean Letting Go: A Modern Guide to Navigating Loss
After nearly two decades of clinical experience and her own journey after losing her mother to cancer, Gina Moffa, LCSW…amzn.to

It's OK That You're Not OK: Meeting 

Tuesday, September 16, 2025

Sobekneferu the Forgotten Queen: A Pharaoh Who Defied Egypt's Priests

 


Sobekneferu the Forgotten Queen

History often hides its most intriguing figures in the margins. And if you know me, you already know I like to go digging in those margins, pulling out the names and stories that were deliberately left behind. One of those names is Sobekneferu — a queen who refused to stay in the shadows, even though later scribes tried their hardest to erase her.

When most people think about women rulers of ancient Egypt, they jump to Cleopatra or Hatshepsut. But Sobekneferu? She’s the disruptor that history tried to silence. The first woman to wear the double crown outright, the last ruler of Egypt’s 12th Dynasty, and a queen who found herself standing at the crossroads of politics, prophecy, and priesthood. She wasn’t just fighting for her throne — she was battling for Egypt’s soul.

This isn’t just about dates and dynasties. It’s about power, memory, and the war over who gets to define truth. And when you start looking closer, Sobekneferu’s story feels less like a distant history lesson and more like a mirror held up to our own times.

Let’s walk into her world.


Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

Setting the Stage: Egypt in the 12th Dynasty

The 12th Dynasty (c. 1991–1802 BCE) is remembered as one of ancient Egypt’s golden ages. The kings of this dynasty rebuilt stability after chaos, expanded borders, raised pyramids and temples, and developed an advanced bureaucracy. On the surface, Egypt looked strong, unified, prosperous.

But beneath that surface, something else was stirring.

The priesthoods — the spiritual backbone of Egypt — weren’t unified. Competing theological centers were vying for dominance:

  • The priests of Amun at Thebes were rising, tying kingship to Amun-Re, the fusion of the hidden god Amun and the solar deity Re.
  • The priests of Sobek in the Faiyum kept alive older traditions of crocodile gods, water cults, and fertility linked to the Nile flood.
  • The priests of Heliopolis held fast to cosmic star-science, the Ennead, and solar supremacy.
  • The priests of Ptah at Memphis preserved traditions of creation, artistry, and craft.

These weren’t just theological debates. In Egypt, theology was politics. Whoever controlled the gods controlled kingship, resources, and legitimacy itself.

Into this world stepped Sobekneferu — daughter of Pharaoh Amenemhat III, likely sister to Amenemhat IV, and eventually the first woman to reign with the double crown.


Photo by Nantu DAS on Unsplash

A Queen in the Double Crown

Sobekneferu’s claim to fame is simple but revolutionary: she was the first woman in Egyptian history confirmed to wear the full regalia of pharaoh. Not just a queen mother, not a regent behind a boy-king, not a consort wielding influence — but pharaoh in her own name.

Her royal titles fused masculine and feminine elements. She took the throne name Sobekkare (“Sobek is the Ka of Re”), aligning herself with both the crocodile god of the waters and the solar order. At the same time, her birth name Sobekneferu (“The beauty of Sobek”) tied her directly to the Faiyum cult of Sobek, the primal crocodile deity linked to fertility, floodwaters, and cosmic renewal.

This was bold. Sobekneferu wasn’t trying to fit into a mold. She was creating her own. By embracing both masculine and feminine in her titulary, she was saying: divine kingship transcends gender. The throne is cosmic, not merely male.

But not everyone celebrated.

Later records erased her. The Turin King List skips her. The Abydos King List pretends she never existed. Her monuments were mutilated, her name chiseled out. This wasn’t sloppy record-keeping — it was a deliberate erasure. Sobekneferu’s legitimacy was too dangerous for the priestly establishment.


Photo by Dylan Posso on Unsplash

Prophecies, Betrayal, and the Shadow of Joseph

Here’s where things get even more layered. The podcast that inspired this exploration points out a striking tradition: that the biblical Joseph — the dream-interpreter who rose to power in Egypt — may have entered the Egyptian story during Sobekneferu’s time.

Now, whether or not that’s historically precise, it’s fascinating. Because Joseph’s story represents something bigger: the intrusion of prophetic visions and foreign wisdom into Egypt’s spiritual and political systems.

Joseph, the dreamer, embodied a new spiritual orientation: truth revealed through prophecy, visions, and one-on-one divine communication. Egypt’s older traditions, by contrast, emphasized cyclical cosmic order — the Nile flood, the stars’ movement, the eternal return.

Imagine being a priest of Amun, trained for decades in star-science and temple ritual, and suddenly this foreign official is telling the king that dreams are the highest revelation. That would feel like heresy.

Sobekneferu stood right in the middle of this clash. Her devotion to Sobek and to stellar traditions placed her against the rising solar theology of Heliopolis, which increasingly presented the sun as the supreme god. With Joseph’s influence in the background — whether myth or memory — the priesthoods saw their authority threatened.


Photo by christian romei on Unsplash

The Priestly Battleground

To really grasp Sobekneferu’s struggle, you have to understand the priestly factions she faced:

  • Priests of Amun (Thebes): Rapidly consolidating power by fusing the hidden god Amun with solar Re. Their theology favored kingship as a solar office, centered on a male sun-ruler.
  • Priests of Sobek (Faiyum): Rooted in older traditions of fertility, crocodiles, and the watery chaos from which all life emerged. Their power base was Sobekneferu’s natural constituency.
  • Priests of Heliopolis: Scholars, astronomers, scribes. They studied the stars, but paradoxically also pushed solar supremacy, anchoring kingship to Re’s cosmic order.
  • Priests of Ptah (Memphis): Custodians of creation-by-craft, bridging divine artistry and kingship.

The most powerful of these by Sobekneferu’s time were the Heliopolitans and the Theban Amun priesthood. They had the resources, the training schools, the sacred texts, and hereditary power structures. They were gatekeepers of cosmic order itself.

So when Sobekneferu threw her weight behind Sobek, the waters, and the stars, she wasn’t just making a theological choice. She was mounting a rebellion against the centralizing solar priesthood.


Photo by David Billings on Unsplash

Cosmic Conflict: Stars vs. the Sun

At the heart of Sobekneferu’s reign lies a cosmic debate.

Older African traditions revered the stars as the eternal ones — unsetting, unchanging, ever-present. The circumpolar stars were called the Imperishables, the destination of kings after death. Temples were aligned with Orion, Sirius, and the Milky Way. Time itself was mapped by the stars.

But by the end of the 12th Dynasty, solar theology was on the rise. The priests of Heliopolis and Thebes argued: it is the sun that gives order. The sun that gives legitimacy. The sun that embodies divine kingship.

Sobekneferu’s devotion to Sobek, to the Nile, and to stellar cults was an outright rejection of this monopoly. She represented water, chaos, fertility, and cyclical renewal — not the linear, hierarchical power of the sun.

In other words, she wasn’t just a political rival. She was a cosmic rival.


Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

The Nile, Legitimacy, and Accusations

In Egypt, no king ruled alone. Their legitimacy lived and died by the Nile flood.

Each year, the river had to rise and flood the fields. If it didn’t, famine followed. And when famine came, people didn’t just blame the weather — they blamed the pharaoh. The king was the rain-maker, the guarantor of Ma’at, the cosmic balance.

During Sobekneferu’s reign, tradition says the Nile’s flood diminished. Whether this was due to climate cycles, poor record-keeping, or pure propaganda, it didn’t matter. Her enemies seized the moment.

They declared: “Sobekneferu has failed. Her devotion to crocodile gods has angered the heavens. The flood has withdrawn. Egypt suffers because of her heresy.”

Think about that. A natural cycle was weaponized to discredit a woman ruler. Priests turned the river itself into evidence against her. That’s not just politics — that’s spiritual warfare.


Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

Spiritual Science: The Ennead as a Ladder

To fully grasp Sobekneferu’s conflict, you have to look at the spiritual science of her time — especially the Ennead of Heliopolis.

The Ennead wasn’t just a list of gods. It was a cosmic map, a ladder of initiation:

  • Atum — the undivided source, pure potential.
  • Shu — breath, life-force.
  • Tefnut — moisture, the fluidity of the soul.
  • Geb and Nut — earth and sky, cosmic lovers separated to create space for life.
  • Osiris and Isis — resurrection, magic, memory.
  • Set — chaos, disruption, necessary conflict.
  • Nephthys — hidden wisdom, the mysteries unseen.

This wasn’t abstract theology. It was initiation — the path every ruler was expected to walk to embody Ma’at.

But here’s the key: by the 12th Dynasty’s end, the priesthood insisted that this ladder culminated in a solar pharaoh — male, singular, radiating like the sun.

Sobekneferu disrupted that. Her very presence on the throne symbolized the return of feminine polarity in kingship. She wasn’t erasing the ladder — she was reminding everyone that balance, not monopoly, was the foundation of Ma’at.


Photo by Zanyar Ibrahim on Unsplash

The Calculated Erasure

Sobekneferu ruled only about four years. After her death, Egypt slipped into instability and the Second Intermediate Period. That’s when her erasure began.

The Turin King List skips her. The Abydos list pretends she didn’t exist. Her monuments were damaged. Her names chiseled out.

Why? Because her memory was dangerous.

If people remembered her, they might remember that women could hold the throne. They might remember that Egypt once balanced star, water, and crocodile traditions alongside solar theology. They might remember that prophecy, dreams, and feminine polarity had a place in divine kingship.

For the priests of Amun and Heliopolis, that memory had to be buried. So Sobekneferu became a ghost.


Photo by Dns Dgn on Unsplash

Beyond Stone: Writing in the Stars

But here’s the irony: Sobekneferu may have anticipated this. Unlike earlier kings who built pyramids or colossal temples, her monuments were modest. Some scholars suggest she wasn’t investing in stone at all.

Instead, she may have been investing in the stars.

If her legacy was tied to stellar traditions, then her true monument wasn’t carved in limestone. It was written in the heavens. And no chisel can erase Orion or Sirius. No priest can blot out the Milky Way.

In this sense, Sobekneferu was playing a long game. She knew her enemies could break stone. But the stars? They were beyond reach.


Photo by S. Malgis on Unsplash

Sobekneferu’s Legacy

So who was Sobekneferu, really? Let’s sum it up:

  • The last ruler of the 12th Dynasty, closing Egypt’s Middle Kingdom.
  • The first confirmed woman pharaoh to wear the double crown.
  • A queen who aligned herself with Sobek and stellar traditions, rejecting solar monopoly.
  • A ruler caught in the crossfire of prophecy, priesthood, and bureaucracy — perhaps even linked to Joseph’s legendary story.
  • A queen accused of failing the Nile, scapegoated by priests.
  • A monarch deliberately erased from records, yet still remembered in whispers.

Her legacy reminds us: history isn’t just about who ruled. It’s about who controlled the narrative. Sobekneferu’s enemies erased her because memory is power. By silencing her, they hoped to silence a whole way of seeing the cosmos.


Photo by M abnodey on Unsplash

Lessons from the Last Queen

Sobekneferu’s story isn’t just ancient history. It speaks directly to us today.

Who decides what truths survive and which are erased?
What happens when women step into roles traditionally reserved for men?
How do spiritual traditions adapt — or resist — when faced with change?
Can legitimacy be measured by natural cycles, or is it always a construct of power?

These are questions as alive now as they were in 1800 BCE.

For me, Sobekneferu represents every visionary, every truth-teller, every woman who dares to stand against entrenched systems. She is what happens when cosmic balance collides with political monopoly. She is what happens when the water challenges the sun.


Photo by Michael Starkie on Unsplash

Conclusion: Echoes Across Time

Sobekneferu may have ruled only four years, but her legacy stretches across millennia. She embodies the tension between water and sun, stars and earth, feminine and masculine, tradition and change. She was erased, but not forgotten. Silenced, but not destroyed.

Her story is a reminder that history is not neutral. It’s a battleground. And sometimes, the most important truths are the ones written in the margins.

So when I say Sobekneferu’s light still shines, I’m not just being poetic. I mean it. She’s part of that long African tradition of women who carried both throne and temple, who kept cosmic balance alive even when the world turned against them.

And remembering her isn’t just about Egypt. It’s about reclaiming every voice that history tried to silence.

That’s the work we’re here to do. 

Talk to you later.

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About the King Cam’s Ujumbe Podcast

The Podcast, hosted by King Cam (Marques D. Cameron Sr.), explores the hidden histories, spiritual traditions, and mystical wisdom of ancient Africa. Each episode uncovers forgotten knowledge and empowers listeners to connect with their ancestral heritage.


Check out these books and gifts on Amazon!

Thanks for reading! As an Amazon Associate, I get a small commission for each purchase you make after you click on my link and you shop, but it doesn’t cost you anything extra. Please use my links below!


Interested in exploring the depths of history, education, or religion through engaging articles? I’d love to contribute my expertise as a freelance writer.
Feel free to reach out at kingcamujumbe@gmail.com for collaborations or inquiries. Let’s create something impactful together!

Friday, September 12, 2025

The Ancient Mother of Crocodiles: Regicide, Rituals, and Revenge

 


The Ancient Mother of Crocodiles

Entering the Labyrinth of Memory

In my opinion, there are stories in history that refuse to stay buried. They emerge like echoes through the halls of forgotten temples, inscribed not on stone but in the collective imagination of a people. One such story is that of the Ancient Mother of Crocodiles — a figure caught between myth and history, between vengeance and ritual, between human queen and divine archetype.

This tale, as unraveled in my podcast episode “The Ancient Mother of Crocodiles: Regicide, Rituals, and Revenge,” draws us deep into the overlapping worlds of Egyptian priestly records, Greek historical narratives, and the enduring myths of Africa’s sacred feminine power.

What begins as a curious mention in the works of Herodotus, “the father of history,” unfolds into a labyrinth of questions:

Who was this mysterious queen — Netocris, Nidorris, or Sobekneferu?
Why did her reign end in flames, ashes, or floods?
What does it mean that she is called the nurse of crocodiles?
And how do rituals of regicide and revenge reveal the precarious balance of power in ancient Kemet?

To answer these, we must journey through history, myth, and symbol, retracing the steps of those who sought to preserve power, avenge kin, and embody the sacred mother of a nation.


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The Shadow of Reicide

At the heart of this narrative lies the mystery of regicide — the killing of a king.

According to the text examined in the podcast, Pharaoh Amenemhat IV’s death may not have been natural at all. Greek sources suggest it was an act of regicide, a violent end orchestrated by those closest to him. Unlike many tales preserved in the carefully managed annals of Egyptian scribes, this one comes filtered through outsiders: Greek historians who gathered their accounts from priests in Memphis long after the events.

This makes the story slippery — half history, half rumor. But within that uncertainty lies its power. Regicide was not just a political crime; in Kemet, it was a cosmic rupture. The Pharaoh was not merely a ruler — he was the earthly embodiment of divine order (Maat). To strike him down was to disrupt the balance of heaven and earth.

And yet, regicide appears again and again in Egyptian and African royal traditions, often cloaked in ritual. A king’s death could be framed not as murder, but as sacrifice — a renewal of power, a resetting of cosmic balance. The death of Amenemhat IV, seen through this lens, may not have been simply betrayal, but part of a larger cycle in which vengeance, ritual, and divine sanction were inseparable.


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Enter Nitocris: Queen of Shadows

Into this fractured landscape steps Netocris — called Nidorris in some versions — a queen remembered more vividly by the Greeks than by her own people.

Herodotus, writing in the 5th century BCE, claims that she was Egypt’s first female Pharaoh. Though scholars today identify Sobekneferu (c. 1806–1802 BCE) as the first confirmed female ruler, the legend of Netocris endures, cloaked in mystery.

Her story, as told by the priests of Memphis to Herodotus, is one of vengeance and ritual fire. After her brother was murdered — by courtiers, rivals, or rebels — she ascended to the throne. To avenge him, she invited those responsible to a great feast in a hidden labyrinth. When the banquet reached its height, she opened the floodgates, drowning her brother’s killers in a tide of water and fire. Having exacted her revenge, she is said to have entered a chamber filled with hot ashes, immolating herself to escape retaliation.

This chilling tale has the qualities of myth: labyrinths, elemental vengeance, ritual death. And yet it is presented as history, a queen’s reign turned into allegory.

Her name itself, Herodotus notes, means Bringer of Victory. But her “victory” is strange — an act of vengeance that consumes not only her enemies, but herself.


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Between Greeks and Egyptians

The tension between Greek and Egyptian sources is crucial. Herodotus may have recorded the story, but the priests of Memphis were the custodians of the memory.

They told him that:

  • Only one queen ruled Egypt — Nitocris.
  • Eighteen kings of Egypt were Ethiopian, reaffirming the deep southern origins of Kemet’s culture and power.
  • Nitocris avenged her brother with a ritual slaughter, then perished in fire.

For the priests, the tale may have carried layers of meaning beyond the literal. It was not just about one queen, but about the fragility of dynasties, the power of women as avengers, and the dangers of internal betrayal.

The Greeks, however, translated these into their own idiom. Netocris became linked to Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war. Egyptian goddesses were reframed as “equivalents” of Greek deities, stripping them of their uniquely African context.

Here we see a pattern that still echoes today: African myths reinterpreted through foreign eyes, losing nuance but gaining a strange new afterlife.


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The Labyrinth and the Chamber of Ashes

Central to Netocris’s tale is the labyrinth, a massive construction of chambers above and below ground. Herodotus describes 3,000 rooms, half above, half below.

This labyrinth was said to be near the pyramid complex, possibly at Hawara. Its purpose remains debated: was it a palace, a mortuary temple, a ceremonial site? In Netocris’s story, it becomes a stage for vengeance — a place where ritual and architecture converge.

The chamber of ashes adds another layer of symbolism. Fire and ashes are purifying, destructive, and transformative. By entering the chamber voluntarily, Netocris may have enacted a ritual self-offering, ensuring her memory would linger not as a victim, but as a figure of terrible justice.

This imagery resonates with African traditions where rulers could not die ordinary deaths. Their passing had to be cloaked in ritual, even if it meant their destruction was rewritten as sacrifice.


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Sobekneferu and the Crocodile Mother

The podcast draws a provocative link between Netocris and Sobekneferu, the last ruler of Egypt’s 12th Dynasty. Sobekneferu (meaning the beauty of Sobek) ruled around 1806–1802 BCE.

Unlike Netocris’s shadowy legend, Sobekneferu is historically attested. She claimed legitimacy through her father, Amenemhat III, and her devotion to the crocodile god Sobek.

Here the mother of crocodiles theme emerges. Sobek was often depicted as a male deity, but Sobekneferu’s link suggests a feminine counterpart: a goddess or queen depicted nursing a baby crocodile, titled nurse of crocodiles. This image combines nurturing and terror — life-giver and death-bringer.

In this sense, the “ancient mother of crocodiles” may not have been one queen at all, but a fusion of archetypes: Netocris the avenger, Sobekneferu the crocodile queen, and the primordial goddess Neith, who presided over the floodwaters and the dangerous fertility of the Nile.


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Ritual, Revenge, and Maat

The question is

Why did vengeance loom so large in these stories?

In Kemet, rulers were measured against Maat — the principle of cosmic balance, justice, and truth. When that balance was shattered — through regicide, rebellion, or betrayal — vengeance was not simply personal. It was cosmic restoration.

Netocris’s drowning of conspirators, or Sobekneferu’s alignment with the crocodile god, both speak to the idea that rulers wielded ritual violence as a sacred duty. To let traitors live would be to allow chaos (Isfet) to spread.

But vengeance was dangerous. In myth and in life, the avenger often shared the fate of those they punished. Netocris immolated herself; Sobekneferu’s dynasty collapsed after her reign. Vengeance may restore order for a moment, but it also leaves scars.


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The Myth of the Secret Name

This reminded me of one of the most interesting digressions and that is the tale of Isis and Ra. In this myth, Isis heals the sun god Ra from a snakebite, but only after extracting his secret name — the key to ultimate power.

This story echoes the themes of Netocris: secrecy, ritual, and the deadly interplay between life and death. Just as Ra’s hidden name holds cosmic power, so too did the secret chambers of the labyrinth hold the fate of Netocris’s enemies.

It is no accident that Cleopatra’s later death would also be tied to snakes, poison, and secrecy. The motif of the venomous bite became a metaphor for hidden power, vengeance, and the blurred line between history and myth.


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The Chamber of Ashes Revisited

Egyptologist Alfred Lucas once noted that plants like the thorn apple could be burned to create intoxicating smoke. A small chamber near the pyramid complex, associated with Sobek’s cult, might have been used for such ritual inhalations.

Could Netocris’s “chamber of ashes” have been such a space — part temple, part execution chamber, part spiritual retreat? If so, her fiery end may represent not literal flames but a ritual passage into another realm.

Here the line between history and myth dissolves completely. The labyrinth becomes not just architecture but allegory. The ashes become not just destruction but transformation.


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The Archetype of the Crocodile Mother

Who, finally, was the ancient mother of crocodiles?

  • She was Neith, the primordial goddess, associated with the primeval floodwaters and often depicted nursing crocodiles.
  • She was Sobekneferu, the crocodile queen, who bound her legitimacy to Sobek’s cult in the Fayum.
  • She was Nitocris, the avenger queen of the labyrinth, remembered by Greeks as a figure of fire and vengeance.

As an archetype, she embodies the paradox of feminine power in African tradition: nurturer and destroyer, mother and executioner, preserver of order and avenger of chaos.


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Lessons from the Labyrinth

The tale of the Ancient Mother of Crocodiles is not easily pinned down. It is history refracted through myth, myth retold as history, and both filtered through cultural memory.

What survives is less about one woman than about the enduring themes of regicide, ritual, and revenge. It is about the way power is taken, lost, and avenged. It is about how queens and goddesses alike embody the dangerous, creative, and destructive waters of the Nile.

And it is about how Africa’s sacred feminine has always been more than a counterpart to men’s power — it is the source of renewal, the guardian of order, and, when wronged, the avenger cloaked in ashes and crocodiles.

To listen to the story is to step into the labyrinth. And once inside, you realize that every chamber — above and below ground — contains not just history, but the reflection of our own timeless struggle with justice, power, and revenge.

Talk to you later

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About the King Cam’s Ujumbe Podcast

The Podcast, hosted by King Cam (Marques D. Cameron Sr.), explores the hidden histories, spiritual traditions, and mystical wisdom of ancient Africa. Each episode uncovers forgotten knowledge and empowers listeners to connect with their ancestral heritage.


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