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Gilgamesh and Enkidu fight the Bull of heaven (2021)
Polytheistic rambling: Nanshe
So. I'm an undercover pagan, for the most part. Living in the southern part of the States makes that sort of necessary. I don't really have much of a community here, I'm not interested in joining a Wiccan coven. So I finally got off my butt one day and though to myself, "Unitarian Universalists. That works." Showed up, was an awkward dork who corrected the group leader's mythology references, managed to sort of make friends. So now I show up on a regular basis, and even with the difference in beliefs it's rather nice.
There's a reason I titled this as a Nanshe rant, though. She's become very relevant to my life as of late. Nanshe is the Sumerian goddess of justice and compassion. Also fishermen, which is the source of a lot of ironic laughter for me. I'll explain.
Keep in mind I'm an undercover pagan in the South. So. I've been on a job hunt, and my stepmom (who is aware I'm not Christian, but needs must) suggested I work for this big-name church that runs a thrift store. I'm definitely fine with that, even though it... feels awkward to me? I thought about it, and realized it's less awkward than I suspected. Personally, I like the idea of working at a thrift store. From the spiritual angle? What deity do I know that has a lot of fish and bird symbolism; whose temples historically redistributed offerings to widows, orphans, and other people in unfortunate financial situations; whose priesthood went through a dying-and-rising rite and whose supplicants got thrown into the river before they approached during the New Year's festival? Forgive me if I'm reaching too hard, because I know the Abrahamic god is a different being by a long shot, but the coincidences are kind of hilarious to me.
Nanshe stands for the same things that a lot of Christians espouse, but if I was public about it I know at least three people who would cry because they failed to save my soul. So I'm just gonna... think about getting a fish bumper sticker, and apply for a job at a thrift store because I need it and my religion is 100% behind that decision.
Also the pastor apparently said something about pagans not having anything to teach concerning justice or compassion for your fellow man. I died laughing while the rest of the pagan group sighed.
This post is mostly an excuse to figure out how to tag, partially an excuse to put more content on my blog, and definitely an excuse to talk about my gods. So. My gods! My main go-tos are: Nisaba, the light of my life and lady of my home, Goddess of Scribes, Barley, and the Written Word. (I'm giving you the cliffnotes version rather than the polytheist rant, so. That's a good summary.) Nuska, god of the lamp at night. His job is to burn evil magic, generally. Protector god who fights off demons, his symbol is seen on the Pazuzu plaque in position to defend a bedside from the horrible demon Lamashtu, who is never welcome near me or my family. I go to him a lot concerning anxiety and nightmares. In addition to them, I go to: Ereshkigal, Utu, Enki, Inanna, Ninhursag, Gula, and Nanshe with relative frequency. I pay respects to Tiamat, but she's technically not Sumerian, very dead, and the story is complicated. Ereshkigal- queen of the House of Dust Utu- god of the sun, laws, travel, divination, protects against gidim, sometimes judges the dead Enki- god of fresh water, purification, magic, creativity, wisdom, fertility, creator of mankind who organized the world Inanna- goddess of passion, sex, war, lady who changes man into woman and woman into man Ninhursag- wife of Enki, mother goddess, lady of the cultivated earth Gula- goddess of medicine in all forms, dogs Nanshe- goddess of social justice, fishermen, dream divination On occasion I say a word or two for Nanna, the god of the moon, and Uttu, the goddess of weaving and the first married woman. I pay respect to a lot of gods as they are relevant, to be honest, but I never let a day go by without saying something to Nisaba.
That moment when you follow the Calendar of Nippur, and you have no idea what to do for the current month (Su-numun) but you're also obsessively planning for Ne Izi Gar. It's like Thanksgiving versus Halloween all over again.
These lovely, lovely people are excellent support. The Facebook group has given me so much in terms of resources and community interaction. I submitted a few things to their work-in-progress guide! Here's hoping they like really long prayers and poetry.
Interview: Temple of Sumer
[Today, we sit down for a quick interview with Sam Jackson and Steffy Vonscott of the Temple of Sumer. The organization, dedicated to reviving the polytheistic traditions of ancient Mesopotamia, is in the process of putting together a guide for the curious and new practitioners. Here, they discuss their devotion to their tradition and Gods, common misconceptions about Sumer, and what they are looking for in terms of submissions.]
Read more…
My Lady Nisaba, fair woman who dwells in the tablet stacks, I pray for your kindly eye upon the libraries, and your kindly hand upon the bookstores. Yellowed paper, quiet dust, and warm wood are going the way of the dodo bird, and my heart grieves for the fading sanctuaries. Maybe I'm old fashioned. But, Nisaba of Wisdom, you have more claim to that title than this scribe, don't you? You were there when messengers first set reed to wax, you were there when the farmers first recorded grain sales. You were there in the forge when letters were first embossed on metal, and you were there when the brilliance of paper and ink was first noted. The written word has spread far and through many mediums. Now is the time of graffiti and concrete, font and pixels. My Lady Nisaba who is Nanibgal, good woman with the silver reed in her hand who knows the beauty of the stylus pressed against tablet: time passes, but may the appreciation of the written word echo eternally, through evolution and revolution. My Lady Nisaba colored like the stars, it is sweet to praise you. May your name resound on the lips of the black-headed ones forever and ever.
Polytheist Ramblings: Ninhursag
Most of my life has been spent in Kansas. Not eastern Kansas, where you get the illusion of that magical thing people call "hills". Where the river gnaws at the border and the lawns are lush with greenery. I'm talking about sundried spittoon Kansas, metal whirligigs and fields that surge like a golden sea beneath the wild, hair-tossing wind. The wind in the city, in the mountains? A declawed little puff compared to the fluid onrushing of a wall of pure force as vast as the sky itself. The sky is searing, the windbreaks bent like regal courtiers beneath it, rare cloud shadows scudding across the landscape. It's beautiful. Most people don't really see that. Don't even get me started on the flash floods.
So yes, I was raised in the pancake state. I vaguely recall something Nightvale related.... something about not believing in mountains? Eh. Point being, the long drive to New Mexico, or Colorado, was always exciting. Cars, to me, were always a bit like teleporters. You get in, wait a bit, and then suddenly you're waking up at the destination. My dad's philosophy tapes might have been partially to blame, until I started actually listening. But one thing that always wound me up and had my face pressed to the glass was that first glimpse of a purple smudge on the horizon. I definitely believed in mountains. Just like I believed in unicorns. There's something absolutely magical about watching the earth lazily rear up to wrap itself in clouds as easily as my mother could tie her fancy, billowing scarves. There were huge scars in the land where people had dug into the rock to build roads, crumbling bits of ruddy sandstone and white gypsum like gleaming bones. It was like seeing that biblical flood frozen in time all around me, terrifying, but I was too distracted by the newness and the beauty to be scared. I'm the sort to ogle mesas, okay? Mountains are serious business worth waxing poetic over.
Now I live in the Ozarks. Not exactly by choice, mind. It's been a few years now, and I honestly preferred to have an on-again off-again, long distance, friends with benefits sort of relationship with them. Don't get me wrong, I'm still utterly gobsmacked by the beauty here. It's just.... claustrophobic? I used to complain to my parents that I couldn't breathe here. The humidity is stifling, I can't see the horizon, and there's always so much noise from chittering things in the trees. So many trees. They're like weeds. Beautiful and majestic, but Dorothy wants to leave the Emerald City when she can afford to move out.
I did, however, title this for Ninhursag. Living in the shadow of these mountains... I've learned a lot about my family. Some good, some bad. Also a lot about what it means to HAVE a family. My mother was always, to my eternal shock, the outdoorsy type. She's an absolute Hufflepuff. The most Hufflepuffy Hufflepuff to ever huff and puff. I, the squirrely Ravenclaw with a Slytherin streak, prefer my man made boltholes. We have our differences, our emotional callouses and bloody old wounds, stretch marks and stress reactions.
Ninhursag, mother of the gods, had a bit of a try-everything mad scientist husband who made mistakes just like anyone. Sometimes they fought, sometimes her husband's brother had to call her up via a helpful fox to say her husband was dying, and they would make up while she nursed her clever idiot back to health. She was one of two goddesses to join the ranks of the Seven Who Decree Fate, the second being the fiery and fickle Inanna. We know her as the Lady of the Foothills, Nin-hursaj (Lady-Mountain).
She was not born with this title. She was granted it. Not by Anu, not by Enki, but by her son Ninurta who marched against the Asag demon and his army of stone minions, magical talking mace in hand. And why? Was it because she gave him some sort of boon, was it because he was trying to curry favor?
No. She followed him into enemy territory out of motherly determination, she stood by him even in the rage of battle and was unmoved. For that, he named her Ninhursag. He gave her the mountains and everything they held, from the fruits at the peak to the ore of the roots, and all of the animals in between.
I like to think about that, sometimes. When it gets hard to remember why I try anymore. When I see a sugar-smile and remember when it covered up the thorns. When I'm too scared to call her, but also too bloody-hearted to let her sit in that house all alone. I remember that determination that could suture together all wounds, I remember that love isn't always a meadow thick with dandelion wishes. Sometimes it's battling an army made of granite and grit, seeing this spitfire lightning rod of a woman who never says die walk through the van and step to my side like she'd only lost me in the soup aisle, and letting her be my mother even when I'd rather she were anywhere else, away from her embarrassing shipwreck of a daughter.
So I light the cedar incense, take a deep breath, and pick up the phone.
Introduction to Mesopotamian Polytheism, in the style of "Joining [x] fandom like...."
-Ishtar -Ereshkigal -NINKASI -So, you guys worship naked? -The Sumerian Agenda is slapping the reigning monarch full in the face once a year, pass it on -[quietly pushes obscure music onto the table] -Does anyone have decent book recommendations that won't kill my wallet? -Queen of Night/Burney Relief/ Inanna vs Lilith vs Ereshkigal debate -Check out these clay tablets! -That's either farming instructions or really graphic porn -Why sleep when you can scroll through obscure translations? -Maybe I should learn the language.... no no no stop that brain. -Lamassu bookends -Check out these cylinder seals! -Enki is our mad scientist uncle and we love him -[26 lines damaged........] -................... - A L I E N S
Inro to Sumer 101
In, two, three, four, Out, two, three, four.
Alright. I want you to do a little thought experiment with me, if you would. I'm no good at guided meditation or making an engaging essay without tangents. What I can do is write. I can, if only for a moment, show you a different perspective.
So I want you to breathe, and I want you to feel the dust beneath your feet.
The sun is high and blazing against the dust of the road, glaring against the side of mud brick walls. The air is too dry on your tongue, but the shadows are cool, and the narrow jumble of alleys limits the reach of the sun's claws. A shoulder knocks into you, children ducking past your hips, someone's balancing a thick clay pot on their head, there are people everywhere flowing through the strangled capillaries of the city and dozens of black-haired heads bobbing past narrow doorways. The dust of the road grinds beneath your sandal. You duck past a few clusters of people and a snogging couple to take a few well-travelled haphazard alleys, and pop out on the edge of town to get your bearings as you shade your blinking eyes.
Deeper into the city rises a mountain of power, rising towards the sky like the swell of the sea. Three tiered layers of raw labor and artistic skill, several tons of brick gleaming with glaze like fine lapis-lazuli and crowned with a searingly white temple. This is the ziggurat connecting heaven and earth. It's also, conveniently, the best landmark in town. Given the angle, the temple lands given to sharecropping and pasture are probably behind you.
That business is where the money is, and you'd probably have done better for yourself if you'd taken that road. You didn't have the financial backing to try for scribal school, though your mother keeps talking about trying to marry you into a family that can afford it. It sounds easier than basket-making, anyway.
Bearings found, you make your way back into the tangle of streets again at a light jog, dust puffing over your sandals. Your purse thumps lightly against your hip, silver coils jingling a little, and you press a hand down to keep them quiet. First order of business is....
The crush of people thickens, thickens, and then relaxes as the space widens. The market is a clutter of pots, goats, people, and shouting, sweat and hot dust thick on the air. Bright textiles glare brilliantly from two or three stalls, a pile of clucking cages a few feet from where you're standing. Determined, you duck into the throng. Pottery stall, carpenter's stall, foreign spices, baskets of fish glittering in the afternoon sun. Finally, you spot the mason's shop and struggle past a knot of unmarried girls eyeing the fisher's boy. This stall isn't as claustrophobic, but there are one or two people lingering. The mason with worn hands and deeply wrinkled eyes looks up and smiles. Most of what's on display are little statues. People, animals, even a beautiful flat carving of a reed boat. You explain what you need, and he produces a tiny basalt dog the size of your fist from a basket. You bring out the coil of metal, break off a few rings, and hand them over. He weighs them, nods, and pulls out a few tools to write "For the life of Eman" on the base. That done, you take your purchase with gratitude and start the long jog to the temple gates.
Eman has been sick for a week or so, sweating and coughing until she choked, but the demon had finally left her and you know exactly who to thank for her survival.
Winding alleys, dust, chatter, dogs and children getting underfoot, and your thighs burn a little from the uphill work but you finally make it. The temple grounds are busy too, but there's more order to it. It's also a lot... cleaner than what you're used to.
A priest spots you lingering hesitantly at the gates of the temple district and comes to meet you. You explain that this dog statue is an offering to the goddess Gula, pass over a few rings of silver, and the priest takes it with a small smile and well-wishes for your family. You watch him go, the swish of his robes disappearing through a doorway, and breathe a long sigh.
It's done. Better get moving if you want to stop by the baker's before the dinner rush.
Separation of church and state is a relatively modern thing, and the temple in ancient Sumer was also heavily involved in local business. The most wealthy businessmen? Ranchers and farmers. Lahar and Ashnan, the goddesses of livestock and grain respectively, were very minor but very essential to Sumerian life. You can read about them in the Debate between Sheep and Grain. For more about ranchers and farmers, see Inanna Chooses the Farmer. As for illness, that was usually either demons/ghosts/spirits acting out, or acting in line with a decree from the gods. Here we have someone thanking the healing goddess. Most people never actually entered a temple beyond the courtyard, and definitely not if they were ill. The logic is probably to keep the demon from latching on to anyone else, spreading the virus or what have you.
We know very little of how home shrines functioned, so most modern Sumerian Polytheists downsize the formal temple rituals we have record of. Again, most people weren't actually priests, so we can't exactly put a cycling shifts on our altars or sing praises every hour on the hour. Temples had staff for a reason, and we're only a scattered few. But Mesopotamia was the root of civilization, and the gods govern the gears that keep progress going. From the most essential basics of grain and livestock, to the costly luxury of schooling, the gods have a presence in our lives. We are our own, but we also belong to the gods, and what they ask in return for their sponsorship is service. You can read more about it in Enki and Ninmah, and Enki and the World Order. Do the gods absolutely require our service, are they dependent on us? No. But just like we prefer grocery shopping to hunting and gathering, the gods like offerings. Our personal gods look over our shoulders, our city gods look over our community. Sometimes demons muck things up. Sometimes we muck things up, and that gives demons all the excuse they need to remind us that we're only human. And we are only human. We struggle, we spit, we steal, we tangle in the nets and drown.
But the world order still remains. It's existed for centuries in many forms, beneath all of the bells and whistles we've embroidered it with. Through respect and basic human decency you can earn quite a bit more than you might think. Sumerian Polytheism is about the little links that tie us together. Even I, a jobless urban hermit, have a toe in the water, and my actions ripple outward through the sea of civilization, no matter how small.
Take a look at who you are, your talents, your potential, and chase everything you could be with everything that you are. Be the best you. You've heard it in a thousand platitudes, in a thousand Hallmark cards, probably from your parents at some point. There's a reason for that. Carpe diem. Do the thing, because the worst sort of disappointment is letting yourself down. Don't take yourself for granted, and I have a hunch that the gods won't either.
That's my introduction to Sumerian Polytheism.
Person: You know you're going to hell, right? Me: Oh yeah, for sure! Person: ....so, why? Me: Do you have a moment to talk about Our Lady of the House of Dust, Ereshkigal? Person, trying to regain control of the conversation: You are literally handing yourself over to be tortured by demons. Me: Don't mistake me for you. My demons at least respect hospitality laws. Christian demons are just rude. Person, oddly offended: Of course, they're demons. Me: Hey! It's 2018, you know. That's racist. Person: No, that's not- look, here's a bible, it explains everything. Me: The Bible is an anthology of works created by man and inspired by other works of mythology from all around the Mediterranean, including but not limited to Sumer. If you want, I can reccomend some related books? The story of Atrahasis is pretty good. Person: No thanks, I'm good. Me: Are you sure? Person: Yes, I'm sure. Me: Cool. 'Scuse me, pardon me.... [shuffles through metaphysical shelf, grabs book on cryptids] Oh my dear sweet lord, it has African thunderbirds. Yup, mine. Bye! Have a nice day, miss. Person: ....you too.
I am a pagan. I am not a Wiccan, a witch, a devil-worshipper, a LARPer, or a fortune teller. I don't wear a pentacle or follow an "earth centered" religion. I am not a hippie. I am not a vegan. But also, I do not sacrifice goats. I do not participate in orgies or dance skyclad in the woods. I don't do love potions or hexes. I definitely don't kill people, and there is no religious compulsion to ever start. I don't take hallucinogenic or illegal drugs. I am not part of a coven. I am not part of a cult. I have read the Bible. I have read physics, psychology and philosophy textbooks. My soul is my own business, I appreciate all well-meant prayers, I do believe in my gods, and I owe no one any proof. My beliefs and experiences can only be related by my own mouth, and you don't have to agree with it. I could be wrong. You could be wrong. If we're going by majority rule, then the afterlife likely has been given to mosquitoes or dinosaurs. Your soul is your own business, too. It's not my place to tell you what to do with it, or even to convince you that it exists.
I am a polytheist. A Sumerian Reconstrustionist and devotee of Nisaba, the scribe goddess, if we're being fancy about it. The term might have changed since I last blinked, the community is still evolving. I burn incense and give offerings of food and water on my altar. I cheerfully drive around a greedy diesel-devouring bug. Most of my time is spent avoiding going outside. The one thing I can reliably do in a kitchen is bake, otherwise I'm hopeless. I guess I do fit some stereotypes, because I'm LGBT+. I think crystals are cool, but I'm skeptical about the whole auras and vibrations business. Same with herbs. I do "cast a circle", but it's more purifying the area with holy water than calling corners. And no, I don't mean holy water from the local Catholic shop. I make my own. Yes, that's possible. No, I'm not a priestess. That would require... I dunno, a group? There are barely enough Sumerians in North America to fill a teacup, and of those I'm closer to a grasshopper than a veteran. I certainly didn't come to this religion for the booming community.
I came to this religion partially because I'm a myth nerd and I stumbled over it, partially because everyone needs something higher than their own ego, and partially because I remember a self-help book saying religion is a good thing if your life is a trainwreck. I stayed because for once in my life, I feel like I truly belong. I belong to a purpose. I am accepted. I am, in fact, encouraged to embrace my fullest potential. Fate is not set in stone. It's not quite as malleable as gold, either. There is a plan, there is a world order, and the best thing any one human can do is take full advantage of the gifts the gods have given and run full-tilt into self improvement, bettering the community, taking a moment to remember to be grateful. If you run into trouble and have no one to turn to, the gods are there. I don't recommend whining about every stubbed toe or rude driver on the highway, but if you're in pain there is someone who can help. Granted, they don't owe you anything. If you don't take the time to build a relationship, they might not even hear you. All worthwhile ventures cost some effort, though. Give and take, give and appreciate, give and celebrate. Death is inevitable and life can be hell, but to some extent life is also what you make of it.
My life just happens to involve a lot more flour and honey than it used to, and a lot less anxiety. Works out pretty well, I say.
Polytheistic Ramblings: Nuska
Shadows billow on the border between sleep and wakefulness. When your body is numb and your mind drifts, the eleventh hour when the dark is thickest and the night's maw yawns widest, that is the hour of the demon dream. That is the hour of ancient, bred, beloved fear. The sort that conjures shadow-shapes on the walls, but also protects you from them, as it protected your ancestors from the hulking things with teeth that haunted their campfires.
There are many gods of fire. There are gods of searing purification, all-seeing eyes, life-giving light. But there is only one god who sat beside you in the dark with a date-palm mace laid comfortably over his lap, candlelight in his eyes. This is Nuska, god of the lamp. The god who goes with the watchmen on the walls, torch in hand. The god whose symbol is a clay oil lamp, positioned protectively by the side of a crib. Nuska is the god of the Malqu text whose fire incinerates evil magic. This is a god who will look your nightmares in the eye and make them bend the knee, apologies on their lips.
He also happens to be a very efficient god. By daylight he works in the house of Enlil, makes sure the divine temple runs smoothly, the ovens roar, the offering vessels gleam. He has his nine-to-five just like we do. Keeping the Ekur running like a well-oiled machine takes diligence and care, and a vizier never really gets a moment's peace. I imagine the divine temples run a lot easier than their counterparts did on earth.
It's a bit awe-inspiring to me, though. While I mainly worship Nuska in his role as a protective god, he's so much more than the bogeyman's bogeyman. He is a god and a servant. Never to mankind, of course, but to the king of the gods. In that he's.... closer to us than we might first think. He was there when Enlil first kissed Ninlil. He was there for the crowning of kings. A very upright and dignified god, to be sure. But then this god, losing none of his dignity, takes up his mace and decides that his place in the world order is not only to serve his king, but to actively stamp out the activity of malicious magics and unruly demons. Something about that makes him... a lot more approachable, to me. In his role as vizier he's relatable. In his role as the lamp at night that burns away the monsters under the bed, he's.... at once kind, powerful, and personal in a way I have trouble quantifying. Not once has it been necessary for me to explain the things that haunt me. No matter how ridiculous, no matter the circumstance, he is there and my anxiety quiets at the reminder. If anything, I spill my fears at the altar because I can't contain it, can't repress it, can't run, and he listens without judgement.
To be clear, a god is not a recommended replacement for a therapist. A god cannot be expected to accept every little woe you throw at them, nor do they have an obligation to. Lamentation prayers have their place. The gods should be told when the strain is too much for their servants to bear, and they might help within reason. Also, for example- running afoul of the law, praying for Utu's protection, and not doing anything to remedy your mistake in the eyes of the law would likely not end well. Nungal, the goddess of the prisons, is a proactive sort, and Utu will always be impartial.
I suppose what I'm getting at is that despite all expectations of the dingir-servant relationship, it's far from impersonal or even humiliating like I hear skeptics argue. It's the silent strength of a god who is loyal to his duty, reliable and unwavering, whose name is far from given due respect in my mind. Nuska is my protective god, and for the first time in my life I think I understand what my mom meant when she said, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."
I've always been terrified of the dark, a mix of imagination and crippling anxiety with a side helping of life experiences. I am twenty years old, and for the first time in my life I can turn out my nightlight. I actually can't remember the last time I turned it on.
Nuska be praised.
[Nisaba, for the talents you have given me, be praised.]
Here are some sculptures from antiquity that fill me with delight.
1-3: The Guennol Lioness (aka Beefy Furry of Old)
4: Alabaster statue of who is presumed to be Ishtar, goddess of fertility, love, war, sex, power, and destruction, as well as the planet Venus.
5-6: Sumerian couple. Anime is forever.
7-8: Reaction images.
9: A Hylian shopkeeper.
10: The Emperor Constantine, lesser known Disney prince.
The great thing, humanity has been able to create pretty accurate, representational art for a long time. It’s possible these were stylistic choices.
Goodnight Sin. Goodnight Ningal. Goodnight Inanna. Goodnight Ereshkigal. Goodnight Ishkur. Goodnight Utu...
Tiamat?
the mother of serpents and the matriarch of her people
