What Dyēus Gives, Dyēus Shall Prosper

Ma’at Sings Song of Comforting Truth

Do you think Dyēus gives only to waste?
To have you taste in haste your gift,
Where you’ve been placed, only to sift
And shake you down with frown, then rake
You aside ne’er to abide to flourish?

Do you think Dyēus has left you destitute,
To impute to you sin, dilute your life,
And thus refute all good plans for you,
Both small and grand; to have you stand
For judgement on pungent summit of hell?

So you owe a dime to Caesar, and have not
Any time to climb out of debt nor escape
Frightening threat, yet you have now met
Your deadliest foe, and found tis you
From head to toe in the jester’s show.

And do you think that Dyēus does not know,
And even now plot to untie your ugly knot?
Will not your mother God be also brother
And sister, and friend to bend the future
To bless you with success, not distress?

You have fine tomorrows waiting for you
With fine wine of heaven and the bread
Of angels upon which to feast, though you
Be the least of his children, not beast;
Dyēus will care for you, and no one dare
Try to tear you from his arms wrapped
Round you to keep you from every harm.

Amen.

‡

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Two Ways or Three There Be

And so Ma’at spoke to me and said:

You have heard it said, and tis true, two ways there are
And not so far the one from the other, brother, but too
Is there the third of which you’ve heard; the less trod
By man of dirt and sod; extremes are an ease to please;
But why walk chalk line of self-destruction, my dear?
Do hear me and see, the path of complete renunciation
Blinds and binds you from liberation as much as running
The cunning way of hell under death-toll bell as well
Of poison ‘ore flows as rot-scented wind blows south
Of Eden… Ah! but both paths strike badly as you hike
To end of life you never really lived, but even pined
For in the depths of your soul, but the hole was lest
Open, bleeding, putrefying and you’ve only been dying
Believing the lying that one or other is more satisfying;
But what of the third way? On this very day you may
Change course, and ne’er to stray, from the Via Media,
On the middle way, the balance-way, to stay to beyond
Any ending on the only unending course ~ the Via Media

Two ways only, or three there be? Three in the Via Media
Via Media … the middle way you may walk without pay;
Via Media, my love dove; the Via Media.

Song of Ma’at to Gaia

Flames fly higher and higher in tremendous Mystery
In primordial history long forgotten by humanity;
And the chants, dances, incense from dried plants,
And trances beyond the naked eye to spy the reality
Of the numinous, the spirit world wholly unfurled,
~ shocking always, unnerving, swerving undeserving
Soul into netherworld ~ and therein lies worshipping
Of all-too-real realities unknown to most born now,
And how, but by blindness of mind, binding of heart
From the very start; we are incredulous, not sedulous
For care of our own inner person, whether a sinner
Or no; but there were saints who wore sacred paint,
Touched the hem of garments of gods and goddesses,
Reached for the very sun at night with an holy fright,
To see the light of heaven on earth, place of birth,
To join in the mirth of nymphs and sprites and angels
. . . and are we to blame for the dying flame? Who will
Rekindle the burning, churning fire of desire of soul?
Will she come ~ magna Messiam ~ to some or to all
To rescue again from the Fall, stand tall and enthrall,
Offer breast of life to suckle, best of body and blood
As food and drink to pull us back finally from brink
Of foolish self-destruction and induction into an hell
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ of our own making?

Ah! Will flames fly high again in tremendous Mystery
In our history not to be again forgotten by humanity?

Öyle olsun! Öyle olsun! Öyle olsun!

‡

 

Innana Engaged, Enraged … Enjoyed

Then I saw her sitting in the center of temple steps, where people would assemble, now young and nimble; no longer an old woman to resemble, but in truer form with no weave-task to perform. Innana, with storm in her eyes and nothing warm. She glared at me, and flared, “Do you share the pain of my people, or only stare at the ruins to share your judgment upon my own affair with Uruk? How dare you air your thoughts and swear against Dyēus, against any of us?” Innana stood then, “I declare, you’re easy to ensnare; you’d pair well, indeed, with the bitch-witch Bast!”

“Enough!” Kheba demanded and reprimanded, “What are you, god or worthless sod?” And with nod at Nuh, “And see how you behave before this brave child! And this man would gladly lave your feet and hands, slave to help rebuild, and waive any offer to save him the trouble!”

Innana spiritedly lept down to us and kept her eyes on me, except one quick glance at Nuh, then slapped her sister, and grabbed my throat. “Will you, but flesh-and-blood, gloat over all deity? Then you’ll float on stream of darkness in boat of death!” Kheba knocked away her handhold on my neck and blocked another coming hit from the fit of rage into which Innana had fallen. “I’m no doddling old woman now, am I? You should bow and beg, cower before me, and pray I have some mercy left in store!” And at that Nuh deftly left for safe dome of kindly home.

“What? Have you become some dæmonic mutt?” Kheba asked aghast, then suddenly changed toward her seemingly deranged sister. “Ah, so, not slow to reach pitch of terror-bitch to teach? But why must each lesson taught be bought by student at price beyond what is prudent? You provoke fear to invoke reverence enough for suppliant to learn, but then compliant they nevertheless burn against you, and may even in anger turn from what is true.”

Innana blew softly on my face, and pace of my heart somewhat slowed. Bewilderment took hold of mind to bind in confusion. “I’m not like you, Kheba, yet am I you, too; and you knew I flew into rage even while appearing in old age. Yes, my smiling was beguiling, but was I lying? My smile came from both pity and humor o’er the witty critique of your boy-lover of such mystique; so, too, did I wink at the stink of ignorance, which caused him to blink in reply because deep inside keep of his soul, he knew he was singing the wrong song. And how far along have you led him, anyway? You have lofty ideas, but truly you are too softly, Kheba! You have no ambition, or even cognition, of strict discipline, which is more than complimentary to instruction, but necessary accessory … if it be done right in the sight of Dyēus.”

“And what in hand have you to correct me; I’ll not flee your wisdom,” Kheba stood straight and tall. “Tell what wrong have I done; will you sing that song?” Passersby casually looked our way with seeming apathy, but ne’er stopped to stay, nor did they say anything; Innana and Kheba may as well have been hired hands in harvest bands. Here divinity stood among them, but it mattered little more than the flung of dung. Did they even know? If so, it surely didn’t show! “Do you even know what my Soylu has been through? Do you know of his trek through hell, hearing death’s bell? About the fire and funeral pyre? About our brother, the One Son, and Mother Love saving him? About Dyēus blessing him, and caressing him through Şifalâhe? Ah! Surprised…? But you’ve already sized up dear Soylu, and despise him because he is sometimes still unwise. Oh! But he still tries, and flies higher and grows more than you seem to know.”

Innana now drew close enough to skew me, if she so desired, but it seemed her anger had expired … thank Dyēus and whomever else! “We shall see,” Inanna patted me on the cheek. “We shall see…”

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Note: Second painting, “St. Ishtar,” (recast here as Innana) by terez_bellydancer; also, please do take my little poll in my previous post, Keep Playing Tweety Bird?  And thank you! 

Kheba: Work, Wheat, and the Way of Life, Part II

We continued strolling through the field of golden yield, unconcealed to the high sun above, with distant clouds of rain for which so many had appealed. Hand in hand; heart to heart. Healed. No demand.

“There is so much, so very much to see and touch of such amazing beauty,” barely above whisper, not in lofty tone, but softly I spoke. “How is it that I so easily choke on lies, blinded by smoke of deceit, lulled by stroke of false compassion…?

Kheba pulled out some flat bread. “Come. Eat. You burn with hunger, which causes your heart and mind to churn; to churn too much. This bread will keep you fed well enough till rings the dinner bell; after all, I can’t have you dead now!” She smiled impishly like a child, then laughed, and love lunged wild. Down to the ground with happy sound. Kheba cropped off bits to pop into my open mouth. More was said unspoken than words could ever express as she pressed me close.

“Man and woman; child, meek and mild… Wheat and the bleat of sheep; plants and earthen ants, fruits and herbal roots; sparrows and farrows; sharks and larks and bark of trees and humming bees… Yes, so much to see,” she practically sang while holding me. “And so much more in store of Life, t’would be a lifetime chore to name even some of the all, but then we’d come back again to the same: Life and her midwife, Love, who works the birth of Love and Truth and Mirth.”

I laid my head to rest upon nourishing breast, now no longer hunger nor thirst, having been so generously nursed. “Ah, and there are sprits and dæmons and devilish mites; Watchers and witches and hell-poisoned bitches; ghouls that run through the sea in schools, waiting in bays for unsuspecting preys … and there are gods and demi-gods, who trod this sod, as well. And there are the wraith and jinn, who lack good faith — tricksters who’d rather play than pay the price to really live — and the halls of Valhalla and the heavens leavened with graceful, angel songs, where only good belongs.”

Suddenly, or so it seemed, the ruddy face of a boy beamed down on us, his head crowned with full and flowing hair, though chest still bare. “Ah! Nuh! Did you mean to give us a scare?” Kheba asked as boy basked in the sunlight. “Anyway, did you flee boldly to the sea as you were told?”

“Yes, of course, my glorious Kheba,” his smile broad as he trod a bit closer. “And I couldn’t scare you no matter how well I fare at soft steps among wheat and tares.” She and I stood up, then, presumably to begin our trek back into Uruk.

“This is Nuh, who flew into the waters at the coming of the Watchers; son of Lemek, son of Metuşelah, son of Henokh,” she introduced the boy amid the scenic field of gold — and should I have told her I wanted to stay, that the ruins would be my dismay … but why say what Kheba already knew — and the breeze blew, clouds promising new rain moving in to begin refreshing shower to renew, yes, but also to wash away at least some stains of such recent, bloody pain.

“And quite the lad, who’s already tried his hand in crafting fairish boat, still afloat; one Nuh guides with skill,” Kheba was obviously proud of the dark, stout lad, which made me all the more glad. Young Nuh filled her with joy. “And one day ship-builder, eh!”

“The best in Uruk!” Nuh puffed out his chest, and Kheba slapped his bottom in jest as we all chortled. “The best of any mortal,” the boy added while we stepped through the enormous East Gate portal. “From the finest of all wood and bark, the finest ark!”

“And I’ll warrant that’s more than guessing; you have the blessing of Dyēus,” Kheba encouraged. “So … someday the ark!”

Someday the ark?

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Henokh — In the Hebrew scriptures (Old Testament), one of the ancient patriarchs, more commonly known in the English as “Enoch,” of whom is it said in the fifth chapter of the Book of Genesis, that he “walked with God: and he was no more; for God took him;” father of Metuşelah, grandfather of Lemek, or Lamech; name may mean “initiated,” but more likely, “dedicated,” which coalesces well with the Genesis story, particularly the above mentioned claim, as well as some other (apocryphal) stories.

Nuh — Or Noah, great-grandson of Henokh, of biblical-Flood legend; possibly of Babylonian and/or Assyrian derivation meaning, “rest, comfort, peace.”

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Note: First picture/photo by Dave Reede; second, “Ruins of an Ancient City,” by John Martin

Kheba: Work, Wheat, and the Way of Life

Magnificent Uruk lay in impotent ruin, but survivors were stout with no doubt the grandiloquent city would be rebuilt, and just as great, even more so; taunting bait for fleeing Watchers. Kheba led me through ruined streets to the beat of hammers and other tools already steady at work in reconstruction — no, more than this, complete resurrection — and she seemed undaunted by the surrounding destruction; it was little more than an ageless function of life.

I chanced a glance at the Temple of Innana and wondered would she so much as rain manna from heaven to feed her devotees in such apparent need … or was there such sin as divine greed? “Ah, so evil seed was planted by the witch-bitch, and despite your redemption and respite, there it remains to be uprooted ere it grows to stain your newly washed soul,” Kheba firmly answered my thought as she brought me closer. “Do not be caught by foul lies that fly around you and abound in this world, dear one; not all is as it seems, and the light still streams in and through the dark, stark though it may be… But come; see.”

Kheba led me past many workers, some of whom so recently bled, and pointed to an old woman with folds of cloth, weaving and patching, retrieving from tattered and blood-splattered shreds blankets for beds, shrouds for heads, cloaks and coats. “There is my sister, Cybele, minister to her people, who honor her under yon steeple as Innana.”

I had to wonder in amazement and, yes, express my blunder: “Cybele? Working cloth? Is she god or moth?” Kheba laughed, while the old woman winked; I blinked. “But so much more could be done! Why has she not begun? Before sets the sun, she could have the whole of this work done! Or does Dyēus shun the desperate cries of his people reaching high into his heavenly skies?”

Kheba continued steering me on while peering into my eyes. “What surprise how you turn so quickly from my sister, Cybele, to blister our father with such ignorant accusations… No matter for now; perhaps you should wait for more persuasion; I have occasion to show you more, for much more is in store to show with no evasion. Come.” And what else could I do but heed her lead; I followed my lover under cover of mystery and profusion of confusion, still questioning why gods would trod the earth doing no more to restore embattled and oft-trampled humanity.

“In every age you’ll find the self-styled sage, who doubts and causes others to bout with doubt,” Kheba continued as we passed through the rubble and shambles of the marketplace at an eerie pace, as if taking some leisurely walk among placid flock of bleating sheep, in plains of grain… “Yes, precisely where we are going, and quite nicely.” She smiled knowing without showing any disdain. “It is in the midst of life you find Life, and this Life is wife of Dyēus and mother of us all — even his daughters, the Tri-Mater — and this Life is that bright Light that blight of darkness cannot overcome nor even begin to plumb.”

And we existed the East Gate for me to feast my eyes of fields of gold untold. Kheba urged me forward into field to purge my soul in beauty once again. “We begin again … and again and again, we begin; yet never in dominance. Dyēus determined to give humanity prominence, you see, and he will be true to his word.” She held me close to her side, this time as gently as a rose. “Here is life… Life in life, from Life herself, for Life is life-giving, and this Life is Light and Love from above.” She looked deep into my soul to keep me whole, and I was suddenly fully awake for her sake alone.

“You see the readied harvest to farthest distance; this is the work of my Cybele, my treasure and pleasure beyond measure.” Kheba smiled in obvious pride as we eyed the gently swaying gold that would feed numbers untold. “Yet there are skeptics here, too; spiritual epileptics, mental derelicts.” She slightly buckled in light chuckle. “They say, ‘Prove! Prove! Prove!’ And no, but we reprove.” Kheba laughed again. “They ask for proof; we give reproof… After all, they have eyes but do not see, ears but do not hear, and minds they bind in prideful thread from spool of fools. Look around!” She shouted. “And you are bound to see the tree! Listen, and hear the cheer of Life! Ah! They are faced with the divine every moment, but too debased to know what Dyēus is content to show every moment for their sheer enjoyment! Is this not so?”

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Hold Me Tight; Give Me Might

Hold me tight;
I need to cry in your arms tonight.
Give me might;
Drive far away from me all fright.

Please, love me;
Unchain me in your heart to be free.
Now look and see;
Open your ears and hear my sad plea.

The journey has been long; this man is weary. Now again, I’ve found where I belong, and song is sung along with throng of angels; no eerie silence in wasted land for dæmons in fury to bury me. Clearly this beleaguered man has made it home, if indeed home is where the heart is, then I have the whole and not in part. Did you not care for me from the start?

Gather me in;
Let my soul rest and being again.
Forget all sin;
Redemption won, I’m now no bane.

Kheba, ever stay;
And never again make me fly away!
Kheba, ever stay;
Let us travel as one in life’s way.
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Kheba: In the Crumbled Rubble of Uruk

And there she lay in splay of ruin — Uruk — as if torn apart by evil bruin and, indeed, she had been; only the splendorous Temple of Innana stood in radiance in bright light of new sun rising on newly begun day, yet in complete disarray. People could be seen like ants running to and fro and in between half-eaten buildings, bitten by the Watchers. The great city had been hard smitten by foul attack, but evidently in no lack of defense… Uruk did, after all, survive, and she would revive.

Some sizeable clouds rolled across high-sky, teasing of rain without appeasing, proud they could partly shroud war-torn land without answering demand for much-needed water. As I drew nearer, the slaughter was unimaginable; the day hotter than usual, which only worsened matters for the  rotters. And where was the Mater, Innana, in all this? She may as well have been little more than squatter! How many lives had been lost, tossed into netherworld, to defend her precious parental temple?

“A bit harsh, don’t you think?” came familiar voice. “In blink of an eye, you shrink from grace and lace your thoughts with condemnation.”

I turned. My heart burned. No better sound could have entered my ear, and no dearer sight could have met my eyes than the one I beheld: Kheba. Battle weary but alive, she revived this weary man, smiled and piled on kiss after kiss. “Did you think I wouldn’t miss you? That I wouldn’t worry that you had to leave in such a hurry, to scurry through wasteland filled with haunting band of ghosts and wraiths?” And I made most of the moment and held her tightly, pressing lips to lips again. And all doubt about what had happened left as I breathed out with one great heave. Leave such foolishness and believe, I told myself. If Kheba fought, she brought sister with her, too! This much I suddenly knew.

“And Metuşelah and Lemek?” I asked as we continued our trek back into Uruk, or what was left after being horrifically ransacked.

“No death toll has rung for those two. Except for a few wounds, they do well,” Kheba answered. “But you? Tell me what happened to you? I knew your journey would be hard and fraught with danger, perhaps even bought at the price of your life… Yet here you are alive, and though worn you somehow seem to thrive.” She took pause to consider the cause. “Ah … you met Şifalâhe … after being saved from blight of Ddiafol and set aright again … and you sank into crystalline lake, and drank freely sweet honey of heaven. Am I right in my divine hindsight?” She swung me around off my feet and began to beat in laughter.

“Oh, the gods! The gods! Never did human trod this earth as mysterious as the gods!” I had to laugh, as well, but then chaff from the ruins floated round about. “But how can you be so joyous and buoyant in chorus of mirth amid such death and dearth?”

“Well, we finally won by the rise of yesterday’s sun; at great cost, for  many, many were lost. We scorned and cursed the Watchers even as we mourned family and friends fallen … but in that hour victory was ours.” Kheba looked at me squarely, barely able to continue. “Even still, I had no joy, no thrill in having bested the enemy, especially having invested so much blood to do so… Oh, no. No … my joy comes in seeing you, and being here, right where I am now … after all, even the goddess knows true love.”

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Forward in Going Back to Uruk, Kheba

Wind blew slew of sand around us, between us, engulfing us; then the Watcher was gone … but still I felt eyes upon me. So now would it be that he and I should travel together? But why not attack? Was someone holding him back? If so, why let him so near? To cause fear, perhaps; to see if the man be sincere? Such divine test seemed almost grotesque! Had I been blessed only to be made an heavenly jest? This was too much to ingest as I slowly, painfully progressed, possessed with determination. But would Watcher now molest me along the way, and that, perhaps, at God’s behest? There was no reason to express my distress. Who would hear my voice, or see my tears? I’d made my choice — I alone — though now I could not rejoice.

Then the eyes again, spies of hell, guise of lies. But only the eyes, sweeping in, keeping watch; sweeping out but ever about me. I knew, so surely as the wind blew. And who slew the Giant? I was no David, and stones would not fell one with no bones anyway. Or was the Watcher now made of flesh and bones, so freshly thrown from heaven? Had he known what it is to groan, to be disowned and wander alone with no throne for such might and power and beauty, now confined to obscurity of earth? And what do you know of heaven and earth? Your own birth upon dirt so recent, so indecent? What do you even know of the place of your birth; your own lack of eternal worth? Whisper questions to my mind, but I was in no bind to answer. Instead, unexpectedly, I laughed and sang, played the part of happy dancer, fool prancer to throw off the cancer-thoughts!

“Meleği, my meleği, remove this blight; slow down the fading light of candle of hope; give my heart greater scope!” I swirled and twirled in the burning wind and churning sand. “Even still … even still, my sweet meleği, thank you for the light now by which I may plow ahead. And when the dark comes again, as surely it shall, mark my place and with you beside me it shall be not so stark, and when the sun rises again, as surely it must, we will again embark on our journey … on our journey home, and not on gurney, but our own two feet to the beat of victory won and, yes, in dignity! No longer in captivity, I’ve been given ability to walk in freedom with no chain to fetter; I’ve been given the better part of me, my sweet meleği, so bid the crotched Watcher turn his eyes elsewhere to burn some other sight, for there is nothing here for him, save spear of divine defense!”

Ah! Plenty of faux courage, yet how many times have I heard this cry to deny my power! You dance and sing like a fool, woven from the spool of Dyēus, divine ghoul seated upon his celestial stool! You believe you have received blessing, but you’ve been deceived. Dyēus only means to interweave you into his slave-service, but do you perceive his help here, now. You are naïve and will achieve nothing! Nothing! No matter the ‘new’ life you conceive, you will only bereave yourself.” In his words I heard something of the well-honed tone of Bast, cast again in disdain to profane all goodness. Oh! Goodness? S/he heard my thoughts, which brought a bit of a chill. Does the thought of ‘goodness’ thrill you, then? But what is ‘goodness,’ really? Isn’t it silly for you to assume by the spume of your mind filled with fume that you know ‘goodness?’

“I may be limited, and even ill-fitted to be philosopher or guru; no astronomer, prophet, or scholar; yet I am a man, and though short be my span of life, I began my journey in flurry of confusion and profusion of pain and stain of guilt; this much I know and will gladly show. But this man I am now has been somehow changed, rearranged, no longer deranged. And I can see with heart and soul as well as with my eyes, and this is the better part from the very start. Of this I have been convinced amidst much trial and terror, so no one need question in deceitful tone. But rather heed what I say: Goodness is life and bright light, and star-filled night; rain to wash away the pain; the gentle breeze that sings through the trees; everlasting hope by which to cope; beauty and serenity, duty to family and friends; peace that gives lease to quiet harmony; charity without disparity … and so much more. Yes, even I know what is good and it is food for my whole self… But you? You left all of this and are now bereft and starving for even a farthing’s worth of this banquet.”

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Meleği  —  means angel (der. from Turkish)

Bedouin Backtracks: Someone is Watching

Where to go now and how? Would I wander forever? Should I? Does the Bedouin live fonder life? Though I seriously pondered remaining in verdant hills in thrill of life, beside crystalline lake, heart and mind moved me to take the advice of my shadowy savior. But yonder where should I wander now? No, I could not falter! I would alter my course and return to the source of this new and strange episode; after all, in the end I did not erode, but exploded into new and vibrant life! I was not the same as when I first came; someone had saved and made claim upon me while freeing me at the same time to the celebratory chime of the heavenlies. It was settled, then: With mettle I would return to Uruk with stern determination, where I yearned to be again with Kheba…

And so I began descending the hills with but one plan, as if some guiding hand were driving me across the desert sand. No longer breeze; seize of hot wind pounded me, confounded me, but my direction seemed still sure, even through wind-dust and sun-glare blur. Someone spurred me onward toward Uruk … toward Uruk. Every step forward toward my destination was made in painful determination; more than frustration, threatening complete expiration. Yet in expectation of achieving my goal my soul was revived, though the wind sounded like howling dhole. And what did troll behind and around me? I did not know, but would not let fear grow. Truly this was uzak-yerde, but surely I was not alone. If I’d been prone to cry for help, though, who would have heard the little chirping bird in this dæmon-spurred storm; the thought was absurd, but courage stirred again and I remained undeterred.

Then in the swirling sand, blurring vision, I caught a glimpse that brought a chill, even in the heat, to the seat of my soul. Dark shape, stark eyes, drape of black and crimson, cape of vermilion interlaced with hue of reddish blue; long silken hair of regality in pair with face of celestial birth that told of his worth… And I understood: Here stood before me an infamous Watcher with no good intention, no pretention of mercy; in his empty soul, no retention of heaven; his sole purpose to leaven the earth with foul offspring and destroy the beauty of creation; this was his duty. That this Watcher would bother to botch my trek, and wreck my journey back to Uruk was quite the prize of surprise, grand knock of shock! Why would he take interest in me, and make such effort…? Ah! Perhaps it was no strain for him to gain my life’s blood on desert plain.

And was there here anyone else, or was I alone? Someone to intervene, or would I here be undone? New life ended so shortly begun?

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Uzak-Yerde  —  remote place; distanced from community/society