Later in an unknown time and place, Duwamish Bay

Ereshkigal

 

The passage beyond the onyx gates opened into a cavern of infinite size.  We followed the shore of a dark sea, its foam vaguely phosphorescent where it met the black sands.  Occasionally we had to weave our way through tangles of roots, massive things that stretched above us into the infinite dark.  Sometimes flashes of lightning would illuminate our way, revealing a bleak landscape.  There was no thunder accompanying the lightning, there was no sound at all.  Not even our feet in the sand made the soft shushing sound one would expect.  Far ahead of us we could see the fiery glow of an erupting volcano.   I knew that was our destination, if only because there was light.

 

We walked until it seemed we had always been walking, and the volcano seemed no nearer. 

 

Then, suddenly, we were at its feet.  We climbed the steep jagged sides, our hands and feet a bloody mess by the time we reached the summit.  We looked down into a crater roiling with molten rock.  Carefully we followed a steep, but obvious path downward. 

 

After what seemed a lifetime, we reached the bottom and stumbled forward into the snarling jaws of Cerberus, the three headed guardian of the underworld.  Behind him snakes, some as small as worms, others large as trees, slithered, their eyes glowing.  Above us vultures circled slowly.  Bats and flies swarmed around our faces.  The bats’ high pitched squeal knifed our ears; the flies stinging bites raised painful welts on our skin.

 

Resolute we stepped forward, and the creatures allowed us to pass.  My lips and eyes were dry, and I panted rapidly.  I could feel my heart thumping in my throat.  My arms felt limp, my legs wooden.  I wanted to scream, but knew if I did, I would be fair spoils to the creatures following us.

 

In due time we reached the receiving chamber of Ereshkigal. 

 

She stood above us on a dais of onyx.  The fires of the mountain glowed about us, as if we were inside a live coal.  Blue flames danced behind her, making it difficult to look at her.

 

When we stood at the foot of her dais, we bowed our knees and faces to the ground. 

 

“Rise.”  The voice of Ereshkigal makes the blood freeze.  You do not want to rise, but turn and crawl away whimpering. Yet you obey.  Feelings you may have, but will you have no longer.

 

Slowly I rose and looked up at her, wishing I need not.  She stood far above me; my head did not reach her feet.  She was fair as her sister was dark, her hair black as her sister’s was silver.   She wore a crown of skulls on her head and a girdle of skulls at her hips.  She held a trident in her right hand and a feather in her left.  Her red eyes, full of hate and anger turned upon Inanna. 

 

“Who are you and why are you here?”

 

“I am your sister, Inanna.  For the sake of our womb bond I have come to offer condolences for the death of your husband.”

 

“Liar!” screamed Ereshkigal.  I fell flat at the force of her voice.  The ground trembled.  But Inanna did not.

 

“Who are you and why have you come?”  The question was hissed with the venom of death.

 

“I am Inanna, your sister.  For the sake of our womb bond I have come to offer condolences for the death of your husband.”

 

Ereshkigal screamed again, a foul name.  She floated from her dais and hit Inanna across the face, with the hand clutching the trident.  Inanna did not move, but tears glistened in her eyes.

 

Ereshkigal’s voice was a low growl.  “Who are you and why are you here?”

 

Inanna did not answer.  Time yawned as her silence waxed.  Ereshkigal also stood still and silent.  The fires of her domain swirled about us, laughing, licking tongues.

 

Inanna bowed her head.  “I came to give condolences that I might show you my glory.”

 

“You have no glory here,” Ereshkigal spat at her.  “You have no power here, no authority, nothing.”

 

From nowhere, two creatures appeared, one on each side of Inanna.  They looked liked jackals, crocodiles, men, bulls, morphed together, slavering, gripping Inanna’s arm with clawed hands.

 

“You are mine forever.”  Ereshkigal gloated.

 

The flames parted and the creatures escorted Inanna into the darkness. 

 

Ereshkigal turned her attention to me.  I cowered.

 

“What are you and why are you here?”  I felt like a worm beneath a foot contemplating my destruction.

 

“I am a human being.  I followed Inanna here to discover who I am.”

I cringed as she laughed uproariously. 

 

“You are a fool on a fool’s errand.”  She flowed to my side, circling me slowly, licking her lips like a predator circling its prey.

 

“I will grant your request.  I will teach you who you are.  Human being.” She spat at me.

 

I shuddered.  The saliva on my cheek burned like acid.

 

Ereshkigal pointed her trident at the floor at my feet.  Flames burst from it, scorching my body.  The fires swirled themselves into a bowl. 

 

Ereshkigal pointed her trident again, this time to the side of us. From the flames a scale appeared.  She laid her feather on one pan.  

 

“Let us weigh your deeds, your thoughts, the secrets of your heart against my feather.”

 

She pointed the trident at the flames at my feet.  I looked down.  In the fire scenes from my life played themselves in cruel clarity.  From the first lie I told, the first time I hit my sibling, to the rebellious, self pitying thoughts as I traversed her domain, every wrong I ever committed was brought into the open.  I groveled in shame as Ereshkigal cackled maliciously. 

 

When I looked up at the scales, they touched the ground.

 

“Who are you, human being? You are revolting, self-absorbed, mean and ugly.  If you had brains you would be dangerous.  You are too stupid to live, too vile to be tolerated.  You are no good to anyone.  It would be better had you never been born.”

 

At those words I ceased to exist.

Unknown time, Duwamish Bay

Date to be determined

 

I am astounded at how much time has elapsed from that night by Blind Springs until now.  So much has happened.  I have experienced many wonders; I hope my memory serves as I write.

 

I woke before dawn, in the between time, not yet day, but no longer night.  Inanna stood before the rock where the spring spurted forth.  She was dressed as a Queen and goddess. 

 

I had decided what I would bring before I slept, and quickly dressed.  Jenny and Verdia are living creatures.  I could not bring them into an unknown, so they must stay behind.  I left Jenny unpacked and unfettered, free.  I left tent and supplies, bedroll and extra clothes, toiletries protected in a cairn.  Perhaps some other traveler to these springs might find them of use.  I wore only my clothes and the symbols of the things I hold most dear, things which tether me to the people and things beloved to me.  I joined Inanna at the rock face.

 

“I am ready.”

Inanna smiled gently. “In the holy words of the Christian Bible, you are told you must be born again.  The metaphor of a seed dying and being buried in the ground speaks to this.  The seed will germinate and grow, but first it must die.  And so must we all.”

 

Inanna struck her rod on the ground.  The earth trembled, a fissure breaking open at our feet.  I clung to Inanna to keep from falling; she was immovable, solid as the earth itself.  When the steam and rumbling stopped, I saw the hole opened to a winding stair, as if we were atop a buried tower of an ancient castle. 

 

Inanna spoke again.  “When you enter here you are leaving the world you know.  If you return, nothing will be as you remember it.” 

 

If I return.  I looked behind me.  Jenny looked at me with quiet eyes, and nodded.  I unwound Verdia from my neck and put her on the ground. 

 

Then I began my descent.

 

The winding steps into the earth seemed to have no end.  Night had fallen in the world above, leaving us in darkness.  In the dark I followed the wall with my hand, carefully seeking each step with my foot.  It was impossible to measure time.  Perhaps it was only minutes to descend, perhaps hours or days.   Here, as elsewhere on this journey, time is irrelevant. 

 

In due time we arrived at a gate.  It was illuminated by torch light, revealing carvings of ancient stories.  I ran my hand over the reliefs, wishing I could sketch them; learn their stories, and the meanings within the stories.  Before the closed door stood the gatekeeper clothed in gold.  Inanna was taller and more regal than the gatekeeper, but she bowed to her.  I bowed as well.

 

“Who are you and why have you come?”

 

“I am Inanna, Queen of Heaven, Queen of Earth, Beloved of her People, sister to Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld.  I have come to mourn with my sister the death of her husband.”

 

“Before you enter you must relinquish your crown.  In the realm of Ereshkigal you are sovereign no longer.  Not of others, not of yourself.  To enter you must submit to the sovereignty of Ereshkigal.”

 

Inanna lifted the jeweled silver and gold crown from her head and gave it to the gate keeper.  The gatekeeper opened the door and Inanna passed through.   Then she turned to me.  “Who are you and why have you come?”

 

I didn’t know how to answer.  Who am I?  Why was I following an ancient goddess into the Underworld?

 

“I don’t know who I am, and I hope I will find out as I journey through your realm.”

 

“Before you enter you must relinquish your crown.  In the realm of Ereshkigal you are sovereign no longer.  Not of others, not of yourself.  To enter you must submit to the sovereignty of Ereshkigal.”

 

“But I am not a sovereign, I have no crown.”

 

“In your past you have ruled over yourself and over others.  Your hair is your crown.”

 

I gasped.  Relinquish my hair?  My hair is my crowning glory.  It is admired wherever I go.  As I have aged it is the only thing that has retained its beauty and luster.  And I have tried to rule my own destiny, I have had the privilege of choices women in other times and places do not have.  As a mother and supervisor I have been in authority over others.  I am ashamed to admit I have abused that authority, out of pride and ignorance.  

 

I considered, is losing my hair worth the price of being reborn?

 

“I relinquish my hair.”

 

The gatekeeper brought out scissors and razor from her robes.  She cut my hair close to my scalp, and then shaved my head smooth.  My head felt light, and cool.  I ran my hand over my scalp, it was smooth.  The gatekeeper held up a mirror.  I looked strange.  My eyes were enormous in my face, my ears stuck out comically.  I smiled at my strange appearance, but tears stung my eyes.  Oh! My beautiful hair!

 

The gatekeeper opened the door and allowed me to pass through.  I could not see Inanna, but I could sense her presence ahead.  The way was wholly dark, I shuffled forward, afraid of tripping.  But the way was smooth, and I gained confidence and began to walk normally.  Again time was impossible to measure. 

 

In due time the second gate appeared.  This gate glowed silver in the dark, illuminated from within.  This gate, like the first, intrigued me with its impressions of ancient stories.  Inanna was ahead of me.  I stood beside her, as the gatekeeper addressed her.

 

“Who are you and why have you come?”

 

“I am Inanna, Queen of Heaven, Beloved of her People, sister to Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld.  I have come to mourn with my sister the death of her husband.”

 

“To enter you must relinquish the beads around your neck.”

 

“Why must I relinquish them?”

 

“The beads are the gift of your family, each bead a token of a natal tie, a relationship you cherish.  You must give up these relationships to enter here.”

 

Silently Inanna undid the clasp of her beads and gave them to the gatekeeper.  Silently the gate keeper opened the gate, allowing Inanna to pass.

 

The gatekeeper turned to me.  “Who are you and why have you come?”

 

“Don’t you get tired of repeating the same question? And what do you do with the tokens you demand?”

 

I couldn’t believe I said that!  What cheek!  Where did that impishness come from?

 

The gatekeeper laughed a belly laugh.  “My existence is more than you can imagine.  As for the tokens demanded, that is not for you to know.  But don’t be afraid of asking questions.  At worse you might offend, but is that about you or the offended one?”

“Who are you and why have you come?”

 

“I am not sure who I am, or why I have come.  I hope I will find answers on this journey.”

 

“To continue you must give me your multicolored bracelet and your talisman amulet.”

 

I gasped.  “Why?” 

 

My bracelet is very important to me.  It was significant in my healing after my baby, the last child I could ever bear, was killed.  I was shattered, suicidal.  The pain tortured every breath I took.  I cried daily for over a year.  Somehow I had to get past the pain, relinquish my beloved child.  But how could I let go?  I loved him so much, missed him so much.

 

One night I dreamed a dream so real that when I awoke I was disoriented. I was sitting up in bed when just a heartbeat ago I was standing at the mantel, holding his box of ashes to my breast, weeping. 

 

I felt a heavy, comforting hand on my shoulder.  I knew without looking it was God.

 

“Shall I bring him back?”

 

Joy indescribable flooded my heart.

 

“Oh, Lord! Would you really do that for me?”

 

God’s voice was very tender and gentle.  “Only if you truly want me to.”

 

All the air left my lungs.  Tears began to flow again.  How could I take my beloved child out of heaven into a world of suffering?  In just a little while, though it seems so long, we will be reunited for all eternity.  I am the mother, it is I who should suffer for his sake, not he suffer for mine. 

 

“No.”  In that little word, in that enormous choice, I let go.

 

The hand on my shoulder gave an affectionate squeeze.  “I hold you in one hand.  I hold your baby in the other.  I am the link between you, and I my love will never fail.  Peace, my daughter.”

 

Then I resolved to find a way to make my memory of my child a blessing for myself.  I made my bracelet, each bead representing someone beloved.  In among the beads were porcelain beads of the letters of his name.  Each letter stood for a kind of prayer.  A is for adoration.  N is for names, to pray for people.  D is for Dayenu, giving thanks, being grateful.  E is for examine, examine my heart for bitter shoots and pull them out.  R is for relinquish, to let go of the things that hinder.  S is for supplication, for asking for what I need. 

 

As for my talisman amulet, Sybilla suggested I make one for the Journey along the Road of the Rainbow Serpent, the journey that brought me to this gate.  I stitched it from a scrap of silk brocade leftover from the qi pao I made for my adopted daughter.  She is a joy and delight I would never have known had my last baby lived.  She is a gift of her brother to me.  The choice of silk brings me full circle in my healing.

 

 I agonized for weeks over what to put inside the brocade bag.  Finally, I knew – a small scroll with the names of those I love, a miniature of the illumination I made for the N of my baby’s name.  The bracelet and illumination center me when I pray for those listed.  Praying these names helps me love those people.  Some are very difficult to love.

 

How could I give this up?

 

“The bracelet and amulet represent the relationships that tether you to the land of the living, and the land of the dead.  You must be free of them to enter here.”

 

I knew I must, but it wrenched my heart to do so.  Slowly, weeping all the while, I unwound the bracelet from my wrist and the amulet from my neck, giving them to the gate keeper.

 

He opened the gate for me, and I shuffled past, crying from a broken heart.

 

“Peace, my daughter,” he said before he closed the gates behind me.

 

I wept bitterly as I stumbled along, stumbling although the path was smooth.  Eventually the tears spent themselves. I fell to my knees and slept.

 

When I woke I felt like I had barely the strength to rise, but I felt free as well.  I was ready to stumble onward once more.

 

Perhaps I walked minutes, perhaps hours or days.  In due time I reached a third gate, glowing brilliantly red in the dark.  Inanna was there ahead of me.  I stood by her as the gatekeeper addressed her. 

 

“Who are you and why are here?”

 

“I am Inanna, Queen of Heaven, come to comfort Ereshkigal because her husband has died.”

 

“To enter here you must give up your long stand of beads.”

“Why must I?”

 

“The beads represent who you are as a woman; your sensuality, attractiveness, fertility.  You must be free of them to enter here.”

 

Silently Inanna lifted the long strand of beads from her neck and gave them to the gatekeeper.  Silently the gate keeper opened the gates and let her pass.

 

Then it was my turn.  I thought as I awaited the inevitable question of who am I and why am I here, questions I could not answer.  I thought about what I would be asked to give up at this gate. 

 

My gold rings.

 

“Why must I give up my rings?”

 

“Your rings symbolize you as a woman; your sensuality, attractiveness, fertility.  You must be free of them to enter here.”

 

Oh! My precious rings!  On the fourth finger of my left hand I wear my wedding band, a simple, plain circlet of 14 karat gold.  It reminds me of the dizzy ecstasy of romantic love.  The time when I was beautiful, desirable, courted by many, wanting only one.  It brings back the halcyon days of our courtship, wedding, early marriage.  Of the commitment holding us together when ecstasy waned.  It reminded me of the discovery of sexual pleasures, the discovery of feelings within my body I never knew were there.  And of the ripening of my body to bear a child, and another, and a last.  It reminds me of the incredible bond of the babies suckling at my breast, their deep contentment and my awe.

 

On the fourth finger of my right hand is another gold band, pure gold, the words ‘I love you” cut out of the metal.  This ring reminds me of the only time I was tempted to be another man’s lover.  Tempted.  A crossroads of choice.  Surprised that another could arouse me just by his presence.  Amazed I could feel such desire.  Trembling at the force of passion.  Afraid to give in, but wanting to.

 

I chose fidelity.  In choosing, I realized that I really loved my husband.  The passion may be cool; the realities of daily life have polished us into complacency.  Yet, we have grown together.  Half of my life has been lived with this man.  Our children’s faces look like both of us.  Our life together has been poetry and prose.  It is more precious than satisfying physical desire.  The desire I felt for the other is surpassed by the love I have for my husband.  Love that has ceased to be a feeling and has become part of my bones.  It is deep in the pith of me, a choice I make daily, purer, stronger than the idealistic vows made on our wedding day.  Living those vows, in all the pain better and worse, richer and poorer, sickness and health, joy and sorrow, changed ideals to reality.  Choosing fidelity makes me cling to him tenaciously, forsake all others and cleave only to him, even now when it seems it is impossible to stay together. 

 

This is what my gold rings represent to me.  How can I give them up?

 

What can be worth giving up my rings and what they represent?

 

I know I must go on.  Slowly I take off my rings and place them in the gate keeper’s outstretched hand.

 

The gate opens for me; I pass through its ruby portals, and continue.

 

A year and a day?  A blink of an eye?  I don’t know.  But in due time I come to the fourth door in the wake of Inanna.

 

She is ahead of me facing the gatekeeper of an emerald gate.  The price of passing this gate is for her to relinquish rod and measuring line.

 

“Why?”

 

Somehow it comforts me that even a goddess wants to know why.

 

“These are symbolic of your work, your industry.  You have no need of these here.”

 

Again Inanna hands over what is asked for compliantly, almost casually.  Do these things matter so little to her?  She does not seem to agonize over the choice to hold on or let go.  Is something wrong with me that I find this so difficult?  Everything that defines who I am is being stripped away, and yet I do not know who I am. 

 

Am I my name?  I wonder.

 

No.  My name only differentiates me from all the other human souls that have passed or will pass this gate.  It is no more me than Antares is the star it names.  Nor am I my fingerprint, foot print or body.

 

Whoever I am, I am dying, shedding myself as I descend deeper and deeper into the mysterious depths.

 

“Who are you and why are you here?”

 

I sigh.  “I have no idea.”

 

“To enter here you must give me your pack.”

 

Inwardly I groan.  My pack is heavy, but up until now has not been a burden.  It contains my journal, sketchpad, pencils, pens, needlework, and bowed psaltery.  These things give me creative pleasure.

 

“Why?”  If Inanna can ask, so can I.

 

“These are symbolic of your work, your industry. You have no need of them here.” 

 

How I wish!  My work and industry are the jobs I hold to provide daily needs.  Would I could live by the words I write and art I create!  A professor of mine once wrote a poem about the difference between making a living and making a life.  I wish what I do to make a life were also the way I make a living.  My work keeps my body and soul connected so I can find spare moments to live.  Right the gatekeeper is to ask for my precious pack and not the accoutrements of my jobs.  Those I would surrender joyfully.

 

I am naked without a scrap of blank paper and a stub of pencil tucked somewhere upon my person.  God bless the creator of pockets!  While I wallow in the mundane, my creative antennae are waggling, seeking puffs of inspiration, that I jot down and hoard like a miserly dung-beetle.

 

I believe I do need these here.  I need to record this journey. 

 

I pry my pack from my back and drop it at the gatekeeper’s feet, hoping it lands on an emerald toe.

 

I pass through, my back straight, but despondent.  I chose this path just because I would always wonder ‘what if?” 

 

What if it is not worth it? 

 

On and on –

The road goes ever on –

Ending at a radiant door of amethyst.  

 

Here Inanna hands over her golden arm band, symbolic of her status, her debts, assets, possessions, obligations.

 

I am asked for my shoes, symbolic of social standing I suppose.

 

I tend to be very practical about my footwear.  Comfort at any price.  Never compromise the quality of your mattress or your shoes, said grandmother.  If you aren’t in one, you are in the other. 

 

The beauties on my feet are both lovely and practical.  Still, it does not ache to let them go.  Social status isn’t as important to me as sitting and scribbling all day, or baking bread, or kissing my husband or cuddling my children. 

 

I take them off and pass through the gate.

 

The ground through the dark has been smooth so far.  Now it turns rocky.  My feet are bleeding and sore by the time I arrive at the Lapis lazuli gate, hobbling behind Inanna.  

 

The gatekeeper asks Inanna for her breastplate, symbol of her role as goddess, as priestess.  Here I note a trembling as she removes the cumbersome ornament and gives it away. 

 

I am asked for my cross on a chain, a symbol of my Christian faith, which had been dear to me since childhood.  My stepfather recalls me talking to the stars, telling God everything.  Indeed, prayer is to me simply talking out loud, as if to a trustworthy friend.  While Jesus is still beloved, Christianity isn’t.  This symbol is easy to relinquish as my shoes.

 

I go on, arriving at the final gate made of onyx. 

 

I am glad Inanna is ahead of me.  Listening to her exchange with the gatekeeper prepares me for my own.  And it is gratifying to know I am keeping up with a goddess.

 

Here we are asked to disrobe, remove the vestiges of identity.  The clothes I carefully stitched for the journey, the flowing folk dress, serviceable burnoose, are discarded.  Every stitch we wear, from our underwear to our overcoat shouts who we are. 

 

Here I am, naked with no identity.  Simply a body, the shell of a human being.  Inanna precedes me still, still poised and regal, every bit a goddess, even stripped of everything. 

 

I try to follow her example, but my face burns red with shame.  Inanna isn’t dumpy like I am.  Her belly is a little pouchy. Her breasts do sag, but not nearly as much as mine.  Her buttocks are firm.  I am grateful I cannot see mine and have to face their existence.  I am overweight, resplendent with stretch marks.  I am ashamed of how I look. 

 

At least Inanna has her hair.  I recall the mirror visage of myself after my head was shaved.  My humiliation is complete. 

 

The worst is yet to come.

 

Ereshkigal.

 

Waning Half of Blossoms and Flowers Moon, En Route from Lemurian Abbey to the Cave of the Ancients on the Road of the Rainbow Serpent

Last night was a Gala.  Everyone in our company performed something, a story, song, poem, dance, painting.  We toasted a newly married couple, a widow and widower finding new happiness in new love.

 

I sighed, remembering my own joyful anticipation as a new bride, and how, despite best intentions, that marriage was crumbling now.  I shook those thoughts from my mind.  Instead I relived the Gala.  It was very merry and very late.  I still felt dull from the wine I imbibed, for all it made me feel bright last night!

I am glad to be off again, on the Road of the Rainbow Serpent.  From here the way is too wild for gypsy caravan.  We travel by donkey.   Lucia goes back to the Casa with the cats in my wagon.  But Jenny, my very own Jenny, has left her verdant pastures to venture off with me.  Verdia remains with me as well, entwined about my neck as a living emerald toque. 

Jenny’s pack bears the tent, gear, eater and food.  My pack is the same as I started out with so many months ago, with the addition of the silk bag with its mysterious hodge podge of items.  I open the bag and carefully examine each one again: spectacles, candlestick, and anchor, medallion of a unicorn, a tiny pair of wings, unopened package, and a map.  No need of the map just yet, we are all setting of together. 

There are hugs, tears, laughter as we set out, our friends from the hermitage and caravan singing with us in a walking song.  The day is balmy, breezy and bright.  A fitting day for a beginning. 

The road is not too difficult here, but the mountains looming before promise it will be hard ere long.  For today the way is pleasant.  Our company is straggling along, some in merry groups, some in thoughtful aloneness.  We shift from company to solitude and back again as naturally as clouds shifting across the sky.

As the day goes on, our numbers begin to dwindle.  This gives me an unsettled feeling, companions disappearing inexplicably, melting into the serene countryside mysteriously.  In lands of enchantment it is to be expected I suppose, but still, it is eerie.

Our goal is to make Blind Springs by nightfall.

The sun nears its zenith.  Both Jenny and I begin to lag form the heat.  We leave the path, following a game trail to a stream.  We shelter under a willow, enclosed in curtains of cool leaves.  I unload Jenny, allowing her freedom to browse and drink.  From a pack I extract bread, cheese and sweet raspberry tea.   After eating I curl up in my burnoose, using pack as pillow and sleep.

I reload dear Jenny and set out along the game trail to go back to the trail, and then rejoin the company.

Trouble is I can’t find my way back.  I am now a disappeared companion.  I will have to find my way on my own.  I am grateful for the map.  

Trouble is the map is written in a language I cannot understand.  The writing is rather like Arabic combined with Chinese.  It is beautiful, and I hope I can learn it someday.  I take out the spectacles, put them on and look at the map again.  The writing looks familiar, as if I would understand it if I could only remember one important thing. 

The spectacles enable me to see something else.  Around everything is an aura of rainbow.  Where I cannot find the path I was on, I can now see the path I should follow, a rainbow road winding ahead of me.  When I glanced behind me to affirm Jenny following me, I am startled.  There is no road or trail or path.   I walk forward a few steps while looking back.  The road fades behind me as I move forward. 

I began this journey trusting Sibylla in good faith to guide me on this journey, trusting David not rob or rape me but lead me to Sibylla, trusting Jenny to lead me through mountain caverns.  At every turn I have been treated with respect and kindness, compassion and understanding.  The dangers have been those of my own soul’s fear.  I do not hesitate to trust the enchanted road ahead of me.  I set my face forward and go onward.

And upward.  The path leads up the mountains.  It is very narrow in places, so steep in places you can bite the ground standing up!  It would be impossible to find my way even with a map.  The twisting rainbow road leads me through a wilderness so dense I am convinced no human has ever been this way before. 

By sunset I am exhausted, scratched, bruised from stumbling along the way, my hands blistered and bleeding from climbing, and my feet!  I cannot remember a time when they have ached so much.

As I follow the path around an outcropping of stone, I enter a grotto.  Frothing water pours from the stone into a basin of rock, before spilling down the mountain in jubilant spray.  This secret place is lush with trees, vines, ferns and flowers.  Birds flit through the trees singing, butterflies flutter delicately among the flowers.  The setting sun illuminates everything in golden benediction.

Coming towards me is a woman that can only be a dream.  She is taller than I, regal in her bearing.  She wears a crown atop of her silver hair, hair that reaches to her feet.  Her skin is olive, with few wrinkles.  She is young and ancient at the same time.  Her black eyes look into mine with intensity.  I know she can read the deepest parts of my soul.  Her eyes are understanding and wise.  I feel completely accepted and loved by her.   

“I am Inanna.  Welcome to Blind Springs.”

“Thank you,” I bow to her, she is obviously divine, “But I am confused. Where are my companions?  I thought we would all camp at Blind Springs together…”

“They are each at their own spring.  Each has their own blindness to face.  This place is for you.  Come, rest. I will bring food for you.  If you soak your feet in the water you will be wonderfully refreshed.”

I unburdened Jenny, allowing her free range to graze.  Then I peeled of sandals and socks, girded up my clothes and settled my feet into the water.  Ayida Weddo was right.  The cold water of the spring was wonderfully refreshing, not only to my feet, but to the rest of my aching body as well. 

Inanna brought me a steaming bowl of food.  It was a mixture of lentils, millet, and fruits I had never eaten before, food of her people the Hittites of the ancient
Sumer.

She talked to me of her people as I ate.  When I finished she smiled at me.

“You are here to learn of me.  And to learn from yourself.  Those lessons are never easy.  You must discover why you turned to stone when you saw the Gorgon’s face.  When you discover that, you will have discovered your blind spot.”

“Then will I see?” 

“Perhaps.”

I looked into the bubbling waters swirling around my feet.  I had tried not to think about why I became stone.  It meant facing fear.  But my thoughts kept returning to it as dark moths to light.

“When I looked at the Gorgon I saw my own face.  I am afraid of what that means.  I haven’t wanted to know.  I have chosen to be blind.”

“At first I thought I was hiding the truth about myself from myself.  But what am I hiding?  I recognize my faults and try to overcome them.  I have learned to control my temper, which became easier after hysterectomy.  I am open to correction, although I do not accept everything I am told as absolute truth.  Believing I have to be perfect to be acceptable is a myth I have lived by, and struggle to shed. 

“I understand and grieve that choosing one path closes the door to many other opportunities.  I see what I have lost by my choices, and cannot see what I have gained.  But I also know I do not see the whole picture.  Only at the end of my life will I be able to determine if my life had meaning, and perhaps not even then, for I will still not be able to see the whole picture.  When I face judgment after my death, when I see the entirety of how every choice I made, everything I did or did not do, for good or evil, rippled through eternity, then I will know the measure of my life.  I fear that as well, the little I know about my life’s effect on others makes me ashamed.

“I believe in the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  I believe Jesus is God incarnate, that he died to pay the penalty of my sin and rose from the dead.  I believe in grace, being given goodness I do not deserve.  I believe I will be given mercy, a pardon from the punishment I do deserve. 

“Lately I have been questioning the truths I was taught.  Is the Bible really God’s word?  It has been twisted so much.  Religion is more about politics and power and control than it is about God.  The issue of who is right about God is not about salvation as it is about power.  If my religion is the only right one, then what I know is true, everything else is false, and only I hold the answers.  That is power.  Ministries make money!  Churches become corrupt. 

“Our family gave up everything to serve as missionaries, and the co-workers, our supposed brothers and sisters in Christ, were brutal.  There was no grace.  The board decided what was right and wrong for us as a family, that we needed to beat our sons as discipline.  Their interpretation of Scripture put God on their side, and my challenge of their interpretation, also Biblically based, was infuriating to them.  Because I am woman, I had no right to challenge them, I was out of place.  Although there were women in leadership, as long as they agreed with the men, the spiritual leaders.  Yet the Bible is full of stories about strong women, some even leaders, like Deborah.

“There was such a double standard for our children because we were ministry.  They had to be perfect.  Our children acted age appropriate, but were expected to act as adults.  If they did not, we were to punish them ‘with the rod’.  We used natural and logical consequences and empathy.  Students not in ministry were given slack beyond reason.  One college aged student pointed a gun at our 10 year old son as a joke, scaring him to tears and nightmares.  When we asked for discipline of the youth we were told he was just acting in ‘youthful enthusiasm’!  That guns were not allowed on the church campus was entirely beside the point!   That he hurt our son was not an issue either.

“How I dressed was a spiritual issue.  An article was passed around about how women should not wear men’s clothing and vice versa.  Women should only wear dresses.  I love wearing dresses, but there are times when pants are more practical.  How I dress is not a measure of my spirituality!  Wearing a dress doesn’t make me holy.  Wearing pants doesn’t make me profane.

“One couple believed their daughter was dying of a fever because they had an African, marimba, finger piano, in their possession.  They threw it away and the fever lifted.  They believed she would have died if they had kept the piano.  They truly believed that because the piano was of African origin the piano was imbued with evil spirits, and God was angry with them for having it.  And they had owned it for years!  What kind of god are they serving?

“And the church my husband pastored!  It was an issue that the boxes we used for moving came from a liquor store!  Not only was drinking alcohol a sin, but even drinking soda pop from a brown glass bottle was wrong, because it looked like you were drinking beer.  Yet the petty, self centered behavior of the congregation was incredible.  They looked for reasons to be offended.  And kept score with out telling you what they were miffed about, but there was no doubt they were angry about something!   The church existed to serve itself.  The pastor existed to make the congregation happy, not to teach about God or challenge people to become more than they are.  They reminded me of a Charlie McGuire song about his two year old, “If You Love Me You’ll Give Me Everything I Want.” 

“Lucy Maude Montgomery wrote in “Emily of New Moon” about Ellen’s god and Emily’s father’s god, and the different gods people worship.  Gods we create in our own image to justify ourselves.  Gods that are not gods at all, but merely reflections of what we want.  I realize the god I worship is not the god they worship.

“What does it mean to the true God when humans are so deluded by self they cannot see God?  Does it mean those poor sods are condemned to eternal perdition, even though they believe they are destined for heaven?  They see themselves as so righteous, and I see them as so wrong.

“Am I any different?  Isn’t my relationship with God more about who I am and less about who God is? 

“And why is God male, when the Bible is clear that both men and women are created in the image of God?  That God is male is so integral to Christianity that even to say God has no gender is threatening to the male dominated church.  Why is power so tenaciously defended when the Bible teaches Christ willingly relinquished his power for love of us, for our benefit?  The Bible tells us to become like Christ, but we make Christ into ourselves.

“I know I am not the first person to ask these questions, and even if I find answers and shout them from the rooftops, I won’t be the last.  I think, maybe, asking and seeking these questions makes us grow. For some reason we, humans, need to question.”

I paused, amazed at what spewed out. 

Inanna listened to me, her warm eyes understanding.  She lifted water from the spring to me in her cupped hands.  I drank deeply of the sweet water. 

“What do you believe?”  She asked quietly.  I thought for a few moments before answering.

“I believe God is love.  I believe God is spirit, is everywhere, in every time – past, present future together at once.  I believe God is all knowing, even to the deepest cries of my soul, cries I do not even know.  I believe all creation is by God.

“I believe there is a mighty force  of evil in the universe as well as the force for God.  I believe this force, what we call Satan, has co-existed with God from the beginning.  I don’t believe God created Satan, that he is a fallen angel.  I don’t believe God can be holy and the author of evil.  I believe God is the greater power; the power of life is greater than the power of corruption.  The power of God is the power of creation, evil cannot create, only corrupt, distort, destroy.

“I believe truth is not a doctrine, but a person.  So many religions from so many disparate cultures believe in a virgin giving birth to a son fathered by a god, who dies so that his people might live and then resurrects.  This cannot be a coincidence.  Nor is it coincidence that Jesus fulfills these stories.  I am convinced of the historical reality of Jesus, his virgin birth, pure life, martyr death and his resurrection.  I believe he is the son of God.  Jesus is truth.

“I have been taught that you must believe in Jesus to be ‘saved’, to live in heaven after death.  That to me seems as rigidly unfair as needing to wear dresses to be righteous.  Jesus told three parables, which are usually looked at separately.  The first compares the Kingdom of heaven to a woman who has lost a coin.  She searches until it is found and then calls her neighbors to celebrate.  God is the woman, and the coin is a human soul.  The second parable is about a shepherd who leaves 99 sheep to search for one stray.  God is the shepherd, and the sheep, both the lost and those in the fold, are human souls.  When the stray sheep is found, the shepherd celebrates with his neighbors and friends. The third parable is that of the prodigal son.  God is the father and humanity is represented by the two brothers, the one who leaves and squanders and the  brother who stays but is bitter and self righteous.  When the errant son returns the father celebrates with neighbors and friends.

“In these parables the people are different, but God is the same.  There are people like coins, who cannot find God on their own, cannot even try.  God finds them.  There are sheep people, who stumble away blindly, or follow obediently.   A sheep might return to the fold on its own, but it is not likely.  God seeks the sheep people.  He accepts the sheep people who follow their religious doctrine blindly, but faithfully.  There are prodigal people who know God and yet reject God wholly.  God allows them to return on their own.  Then there are the brother who never left, but resents his father’s  magnanimous grace to the sinning brother.  The father, God, rebukes that son, not for staying, but for his attitude of arrogant judgment of the child God loves and restores.  For that kind of human alone is salvation nebulous.  In my experience with churches, I see so many judgmental people.

“Elsewhere the Bible tells us to be careful of how we judge others, that the judgment we mete out will be the standard we are measured against.  That we will be held accountable for every idle word we speak.  Over and over Jesus warned about becoming like the older brother.  I think I should not even presume to use scripture as a measuring rod to judge others, for I cannot even stand righteous against its strict purity.  Unless the God of the law forgives me, I have no hope.

“The reality of Christ gives me irrefutable assurance of that forgiveness, that grace.

“What is key to me is that it is God who does the action of seeking and finding,  That God knows who is a coin, a sheep, a son.  It is not for me to know the spiritual state of another.  God knows.  The Bible does say Jesus is the way, the truth, the life.  I have been taught that means Christianity is the only way to God.  But Jesus said that not everyone who calls him Lord will enter the

Kingdom of
Heaven, only those who do his will.  

“What is God’s will but we love God with all our heart, soul and mind and love each other with forgiving love?  To be patient with each other, kind, courteous, humble, compassionate, tenderhearted, giving each other grace. 

“The God I was raised to know is male.  But there are dimensions of that God I do not know.  I have been exploring the feminine side of God.  Exploring other beliefs about the spiritual world. 

“There is a little voice in my head, which would be a big voices outside my head if I spoke of these things out loud, telling me I will go to hell for my investigation into paganism.  The same voices which condemned midwives as witches, and tortured Jews in the name of Christ.

“There is another voice that says God is above such petty debates about gender.  God or Goddess, matters not, what matters is the humble heart that welcomes God in to serve others in humility and unconditional love. 

“In prayer I address God as Father – envisioning a tender father, wise and kind, guiding me in paths of righteousness, forgiving my failures, helping me grow from them.  I pray like a child chatting to a parent.

“Lately I have been yearning for more formal prayer.  Not that I must follow a prescribed ritual for God to pay attention, but formality so I can worship mindfully.  I just cannot seem to carve out time or place to pray, to center myself and focus on prayer.  I am finding these forms in other religions practices.

“I will always be Christian, it is as much of who I am as my face and hands.  The magnitude of what Christ did out of love for me is staggering.  It demands my full allegiance.  But as Jesus came not to condemn the world but to save it, if I am his follower I cannot condemn those who worship and believe differently from me.  They are as beloved as I. 

Inanna smiled.  “That is why you can see me and we can talk.  It is why you can learn from me without compromising the integrity of your own beliefs.  You have an open, seeking spirit.  In the words of your Jesus, ‘seek and ye shall find.’

“Still, you have not answered the question of what you feared when you looked at the Gorgon and saw yourself.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for the answer to form itself.  The answer surprised me as I spoke it, dazzling me with clarity.

“I am afraid of losing everything I hold dear if I question what I have been taught and accept different points of view.”

“I am proud of you, daughter.  You are brave to name your fear.  Now, are you brave enough to face it?”

“I don’t know, I want to be.  But I don’t know how to face it.”

“To face your fear means to venture into the unknown.  If you are willing to step into the unknown, I will guide you.”

Time for another choice, like flying to
Rome, getting into a cab with David, traveling through a mountain with Jenny… If I do not I will always wonder ‘what if’?  I swallowed and nodded.  “I will go.”

Inanna rose and helped me to my feet.  “Good.  Rest tonight and in the morning we will begin.  One thing you must know, where we are going you may only bring what you carry on your body.”

So here I am, sitting in companionable silence with an ancient goddess, journaling by firelight.  Jenny doses nearby, Verdia is burrowed in the folds of my burnoose.  I am exhausted, yet too excited to sleep.  I wonder what I should bring with me on this next leg of the journey.  I wonder where this next adventure will take me. 

Morning will come faster if I sleep, than if I sit here wondering.  So off to bed and sleep.