Sort Of A Spiritual Cousin Over Here In Sumer. Yo, Devotee Of Nisaba Here.

Sort of a spiritual cousin over here in Sumer. Yo, Devotee of Nisaba here.

So, I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered any other devotees of Seshat on here. Am I alone?

KTU 1.23 (Dawn and Dusk/The Gentle Gods)

It’s been a while since my last translation, but I hope you enjoy this one as much as I do.  It’s an odd Ugaritic text: the first half is a fragmented mish-mash of ritual instructions and mythic imagery, while the second half is a ribald tale about Ilu, the Father-God, and the consequences of his libido.  I have included several notes to outline my own read of the text, but I want to emphasize that many of its elements are still debated by scholars, so you should take my observations with several grains of salt.  Notably, I argue that in the “bawdy comedy” section, the text includes a fairly explicit depiction of two women having sex with each other.

I welcome the Gentle Gods — [1]        the graceful sons of the Sun-Go[ddess], those granted honor from the heights, [2]        in the wilderness and the barren plateaus.

… upon their heads, and …

Feast abundantly upon the feast!        Drink abundantly of the bubbly wine! Grant peace to the king!        Grant peace to the queen,        to the guests and the guards!

The Death-Lord is seated:        in his hand, a staff of sterility;        in his hand, a staff of widowhood. The vine-pruner prunes it;        the vine-tier ties it;        like a vine, he drops it on his death-field. [3]

Keep reading

On Worshipping Gods People Believe Are Dead

It’s winter, which means it is negative seventeen degrees outside, which means I’m on the rooftop burning incense again, prayer keeping my lips from freezing off. I hear Her tell me to go back inside before the cold makes me die up there, but I tell Her that She is fire enough- the sketch of a lion on a scrap of paper in front of me, the epithets scrawled in blue ink on my forearm where my long sleeves can hide them. Accidentally saying oh gods in class and pretending I just really love Rick Riordan. She finds me in my dreams and tells me She will be here when it is safe for me to worship Her but I shrug Her worries off, I am Her lion cub, I am young and still soft but I was built to survive. Remind Her the Gods- not just my Gods but the rest as well- are always calling out. This is resurrection by worship and my mother’s church does not feel holy. I call myself devotee, I call Her patron. Somewhere, a girl is learning to put claws on, the burden of life as a battle. Somewhere, Sekhmet is teaching them how to properly slash and stab, how to win a fight, and how to forget. Somewhere, a girl is learning how to love enough to hold her family together. Somewhere, Hethert is teaching her that it isn’t her job to keep wood from splintering. Somewhere, Serket is teaching her to be the stress on the beam if she has to be. To survive. Somewhere, Bast is teaching a woman how to love her strange, wonderful daughter. Right here, I light the candles with a lighter I stole from my father’s desk. I use my body to shelter the flame from the wind.

Homelessness and Polytheism

So, as of today I'm living out of hotels and my car. I'm still out a job. My altar setup is in storage, I have no home to sprinkle with water and fill with the scent of cedar. No stove to cook on, no fridge, my couch is in storage, my BOOK COLLECTION. It's.... I should be panicking more than I am. I don't know why I'm not. Part of the worst of it, for me, is the lack of sacred space. I don't have a home to connect my gods to. I'd see Nuska in the glow of my bedside lamp, Gibil in my oven that doubled as a kiln. I would greet Nanna when I saw him as I drove into the parking lot, and the nearby park had a stream where I'd done rites for Dumuzid and Geshtinanna. Gula had a votive statue on my altar, and I always had some sort of offering laid out for my personal gods. I had Nisaba's written cuneiform name (since she is the written word) in the most important place in my living room. But it's not like I'm going to roll over and quit. These are my gods. I am their servant. Even when I'm an uprooted disaster of a human being with little to offer, I can still offer a cup of water and a few words of heartfelt praise. This new chapter is going to be tough. I'm going to meet it with everything I've got, and I pray that my gods see and approve of my efforts. I have promises to keep, and I'll meet my potential even if I have to claw my way up. My gods, my goddesses, I think I relate more to Enheduanna now than I ever have. If all I have to offer is a cup of water and my own words, then that's what I'll do.

Dragon merch, hand-bound books/homemade ink/homemade quills, Ferraro Rocher. I will also accept soft and fluffy items, and any food or drink with ginger or lots of spice as a major ingredient.

If You Were A Deity

What would you want people to give you as offerings?

Sounds awesome. Is it a mixed group thing? Do you mind sharing what you'll be doing?

My celebration for the month of Šu-Numun is tomorrow.

Let this be a learning experience for my Wiccan friends. For the glory of the Dingir, and for the sake of my own sanity.