Myths of Egypt: Ra – Born of Silence, Crowned in Flame

Embark on an ancient journey across golden sands and starlit skies with the first chapter of our Myths of Egypt series. Witness the birth of creation itself as Ra, the self-created sun god, emerges from the boundless darkness and sails his golden solar bark across the heavens each day, bringing life and light to ancient Egypt. So snuggle up in your blankets and have sweet dreams. 

The music in this episode is Enlightened Drift by Amber Glow. 

Transcript

Speaker 1: 0:21

Welcome to Dreamful Podcast bedtime stories for slumber. I would like to start off this episode by thanking our newest supporter, catherine Broom. Thank you so much, catherine, and I hope you have the sweetest of dreams. If you'd like to support the show and gain access to over 110 subscriber-only episodes while receiving a shout-out, visit dreamfellstoriescom and, on the support page, find a link to become a Buzzsprout supporter or subscribe via Supercast. If you listen on Spotify, you can also subscribe on Apple Podcasts, though I can't see your name, so it's really difficult for me to give shout-outs, though I can't see your name, so it's really difficult for me to give shoutouts. Though I do appreciate every single one of you for helping to support the show.

Speaker 1: 1:12

It's been a while since I've done a series and while I've heard your requests to bring back constellations, there's another kind of mythology I've been longing to explore. Of mythology I've been longing to explore Once steeped in golden sand, starlit sky and stories older than memory. Welcome to the Myths of Egypt. In this series, we'll step quietly back in time and follow the myth that shaped a civilization this is the first chapter A tale of light born from darkness, of a god who rose alone and spoke the world into being. This is Ra, born of silence, crowned in flame. So snuggle up in your blankets and have sweet dreams. Before the first grain of sand, before the Nile carved its path through the land, even before the stars had names, there was only noon A vast, boundless sea not made of water but of infinite darkness and stillness. It was formless, motionless. It was formless, motionless and yet full of potential. Imagine it a world without horizon, no sky, no land, no time. But then a shimmer, a pulse, and from the heart of that silence, something stirred, not born, not shaped, but willed into existence Raw, the first light, the self-created one. He rose, golden and luminous from the surface of noon, like a flame kindling in the dark. He did not walk or speak, not at first. He simply existed and the world began to awaken around him. With thought alone, he formed creation. From that divine solitude came a desire, a longing to bring forth order from the endless dark. So Ra lifted his voice and spoke, not with words as we know them, but with sounds that held within them the shape of life.

Speaker 1: 4:33

First came Shu, the air, light and invisible, but strong enough to hold apart the earth and the sky, but strong enough to hold apart the earth and the sky. He rose as wind and breath, laughter and sigh, the very space between things. Then Tefnut, his twin moisture and mist, the wetness of morning, the soft fall of rain on stone. She danced across the surface of the world, shaping rivers and dew, touching the skin of all things. From their union, geb was born, the god of the earth, with a body of stone and fertile soil, veins of gold and copper running deep through his flesh, and Nut the sky, her body stretched in an arc across him, adorned with stars, her limbs touching the horizon at each end. It is said that Shu lifted Nut high above Geb, separating them forever, so that night and day could be born and so that Ra might have a place to sail across the heavens.

Speaker 1: 6:06

With each divine act, the world took shape. Trees rose from the soil, birds leapt into the sky and waters churned with unseen life. From Ra's heart came Maat, a goddess of balance. She was truth, justice, the way things were meant to be. Ma'at was a heartbeat of the world, the harmony between wind and wave, between king and servant, between life and death. Without her, the world would crack and the serpent of chaos would rise. Ra placed Ma'at beside him on his bark, where she would travel with him, always guiding the course of the sun, measuring every breath, every hour, every choice. And thus the world was made not in a single moment, but as a song of names, spoken by a God who burned with creation. A world of light and rhythm, of gods and stars, of life and law. A world where Ra reigned as both flame and father, the first to rise, the one who gave order to the formless dark.

Speaker 1: 7:58

In time, the Gauls multiplied. From the first divine family, shu and Havnut, geb and Nut, came new gods, osiris, isis, set, nephthys, but all bowed to the light of Ra. For he was not only the first, he was the strongest, the brightest and the most feared In every temple. From the southern reaches of Nining One, the All-Seeing, the Flame that Burns Eternal. He ruled not from a palace but from the sky. Each day, he climbed aboard his golden solar bark and from the eastern horizon he began his journey across the heavens. Below him, egypt bloomed, the Nile sparkled, fields of barley swayed beneath his gaze and as he passed overhead, the world moved to his rhythm. Crops grew, children were born, kings ruled.

Speaker 1: 9:40

And when the sun dipped low at the day's end, ra's journey did not end. He entered the hidden realm of the Duat, the underworld, where shadows waited and dangers stirred. In the hours of deepest night he sailed through caverns lit by fire and guarded by spirits with dark coils. Of the underworld was a great serpent, apep. Chaos coiled, a hunger with no name, no face, only teeth and shadow. And yet Ra did not travel alone. At his side stood Maat, still and steady, her feathered beacon in the dark, and Toth, the god of wisdom and speech, sailed beside them, scribe, magician and guardian of divine law. Together they steered the bark of millions through every trial and with each victorious dawn.

Speaker 1: 11:01

Ra was reborn as a falcon crowned with fire soaring once more into the blue. So radiant was his power, so vast his light, that even other gods began to merge with him. In Thebes, he became Amun-Ra, the Hidden One who Shines. In Heliopolis, he rose as Ra-Atum, the Setting Sun who closes the day. In Horus, the Falcon God of Kingship. In Horus, the falcon god of kingship, he became Ra Herakti, the sun on both horizons. Even mighty Montu, god of war, bore his name Montu-Ra, the fierce sun who rides into battle. Ra was not just a god of the sky, he became the sun itself, and every king who took the throne of Egypt, was called the son of Ra, for, in the eyes of the people, only a child of the sun could hold the land together and keep darkness at bay.

Speaker 1: 12:32

Though Ra reigned by day, it was in the night that his courage was tested. Each evening, as the sun sank into the western horizon, he stepped down from the visible sky and into the Duat, the hidden realm beneath the world. The Duat was not hell, but something older, deeper A vast, shifting landscape of flame-lit tunnels, silent waters, stone gates and beings born from dreams and fear. Stone gates and beings born from dreams and fear. Here, ra was no longer untouchable. He was a traveler, a light in the dark, sailing his bark through a place where even gods could falter.

Speaker 1: 13:31

At the helm stood his defenders, ma'at, ever steady and Hoth, with spells written in starlight and ink. And yet none were enough to face the ancient thing that waited in the blackness Apep, serpent of the deep, enemy of Ra, enemy of life. Some said he stretched for miles, his coils curled beneath the foundations of the world. Others whispered that he had no beginning or end, only hunger spurt. That he had no beginning or end, only hunger.

Speaker 1: 14:19

Each night, apep would rise from the depths of the Duat, his massive body blocking the bark's path. His jaws open wide, dripping with venom, ready to swallow the sun whole. Sometimes he succeeded, if only for a moment. On those nights, the stars flickered, the wind held his breath and even the gods grew still. But Ra, ma'at and Toth were not alone. Set, god of storms and strength, stood at the bow, though Set would one day betray his brother Osiris. Here in the Duat, he served a higher purpose to strike down Apep with spear and thunder, to protect the light from being devoured. Hour by hour, gate by gate, the bark pressed forward. Gate by gate, the bark pressed forward through darkness, through flame, through the jaws of death itself. And when, at last, the serpent was cast down, when Ra's light had pierced the final veil of shadow, the horizon blushed, the birds stirred and dawn once more returned. Even gods grow.

Speaker 1: 16:09

Old Ra, who had spoken the world into being, who rode across the sky in glory and lit the underworld with fire, now walked the earth in the shape of an old man. His limbs were weary, his breath was shallow and from the corners of his lips saliva fell. Droplets of golden dew cast upon the dust. Still, his light burned. Still the gods obeyed.

Speaker 1: 16:41

But one among them began to wonder Isis. She was clever, radiant and filled with ambition, not for herself but for the world she wished to protect. She had watched Ra from a distance, she had learned the names he gave to others, but one name remained hidden, one that held the secret of his true nature, his power, his soul, his ren, his secret name. In Egyptian belief, to know a being's true name was to hold sway over them, to shape them, to heal them, to command them. And so Isis devised a plan. She gathered the dust of the earth, fine and dry, and mixed it with Ra's fallen saliva, fine and dry, and mixed it with Ra's fallen saliva. From this she molded a creature, a serpent, silent, venomous, alive with magic. She laid it upon the path where Ra would pass, and when the sun god stepped forward, the serpent struck His fangs, perceived divine flesh and, for the first time since creation, ra cried out in pain.

Speaker 1: 18:31

The gods gathered, confused and fearful, but no one could ease his suffering. Only Isis came forward, calm and steady. She said Tell me your name, ra. Only then can I draw the poison from your blood. Ra resisted. He listed titles, glories, praises. I am the maker of heaven, the lord of light, the flame that burns I am Kebara at dawn, ra at noon and Tam in the evening. The flame that burns. I am Kebara at dawn, rotnum and Tem in the evening. But Isis shook her head. Those are names given, she said, not the name hidden within you. And the pain grew. The venom coiled through his body like fire.

Speaker 1: 19:36

At last, trembling and exhausted, ra whispered his true name. No mortal ever heard it. No other god dare speak it. Isis alone received it, held it gently, like a flame cupped in her hands, and in that moment she became equal to him. She spoke words of healing, drew the venom out and restored Ra to life.

Speaker 1: 20:13

But the balance had shifted. The god who created the world had given part of himself away, and the goddess who healed him would one day pass that power to her son, horus, who would challenge the throne of Egypt itself. The world was made, the gods had taken their places, the sky arched high above the earth, the Nile flowed winding through fertile land and the voice that had spoken it all into being grew quiet. Ra, once radiant and unchallenged, had become a god of flame and shadow, eternal but changed. He had poured his strength into the cycle of light, into the balance of Maat, into the shaping of the stars, the seasons, the hours of the day, and he was tired.

Speaker 1: 21:33

So Ra withdrew, not in defeat but in peace. He rose higher into the sky, beyond reach, no longer a king who walked among the gods, but the sun itself, watching, guiding, burning. He left behind his light, his laws and his legacy. To Toth he entrusted wisdom, the keeper of names, the scribe of truth, to Ma'at he gave the gods who came after Osiris, isis Horus said. He gave the space to act, to shape, to struggle and to teach the mortals who had risen from his tears. And thus the great drama began of life and death, of vengeance and justice, of kingship and betrayal, but above it all, still raw, journeyed. Each morning he rose, bright and golden, falcon-eyed, silent. Each night he sailed into the Duat, bearing the world's light through fire and shadow, never ceasing, never faltering. Through fire and shadow, never ceasing, never faltering. A god who had stepped back but never truly left, even now when dawn brushes the sky with rose and gold, the ancients would say no-transcript.