Hello my friend and welcome, for indeed I am in better spirits today. For the sun is rising and the glory of She fills our hearts. For She is Love and perfect in every way.
Yes, She loves us all. O Queen of the Night, our Goddess and saviour looks kindly down upon her subjects. Her eyes smile benevolently at their worries and works. We scurry and hurry and She watches over us. Today is a better day. Yesterday alas was not as good. Your learned friend can be most calamitous in his thoughts. Pay no heed, with a head in the heavens.
On morning worship, I caught sight of a wondrous thing within the lower terrace; a hare. Brown on white she ran over the centre, the altar. O what a glorious omen it was! My gaze so firmly fixed on the creature; I slipped and fell upon my foot. Today, I must use an aid to walk, but the day is fine and my thoughts crisp and with no shortage of clarity.
Let us walk on! Walk through to the Gardens and find somewhere to rest. For today the sun is high and the corn grows tall. Let me rest upon your arm, my friend. I grow ever weary with this ache. It passes soon enough; there. I am better once more. Come, come; let us sit in the feast of flowers and talk of high and holy things and of the Goddess. She is Mercy and perfect in every way.
There, that bench. Let us sit within the cool shade of the cedar. I shall have a Sister bring us refreshment, for the day is long and hot. Waters cooled and fresh from the lake and pomegranates and dates. We shall feast upon the carp with butters, rosemary and perhaps some sweet seasoning; salads of olive, leaf, yoghurts and tomato and unleavened breads made of heavenly rye, Her favourite among the grain. Honey with figs, lavender cream with sweetbreads shall end our brief refreshments. Most unworthy and miserly for you and I can only beg to apologise.
My appetite is poor, not fit for man nor child. I cannot eat my friend and that offends Her, we must eat Her offerings in full lest She bring upon us famine for the disrespect. Calamity becomes those that slight the Goddess; for she is most magnificent and holy O Inanna, O Queen of Heaven and Earth.
Come, eat more; eat more. You are tiny and I am insulted. There, that is better. I shall tell a tale to entertain your ears whilst you eat. I shall choose a tender tale; to ease your food and make sure of no ill. Eat, eat! I shall tell the tale of the Pomegranate and the Plum:
In the city of the young gods stood Inanna and Dumuzid ahead of their wedding feast. The food served was to be only the most divine. The couple stood before the fruit and Dumuzid asked of his Queen, “Which be the most holy of the fruit O sweet Inanna; which be the most holy the pomegranate or the plum?”
Inanna looked before the fruit with her radiant gaze; picking up a plum with her delicate left hand, she takes a bite. The juices run between her lips and down her chin, dropping onto her holy body. “O lad, lord of mine; the plum be the sweetest, O lord of mine, the juice and flesh of the plum does surely be the most succulent.” The Goddess took another bite, this time her teeth biting into the stone. “O lad, lord of mine; the plum has a core like rock, a core like rock from which more flesh does grow.”
Dumuzid opens the pomegranate breaking it unto six pieces. He places the seeds of a sixth in his mouth and crushes their sweetness releasing their blood. The juice of the pomegranate trails down his chin, dripping vivid life onto the floor. The Goddess is alarmed; fearing the poisoning of her husband by a jealous suitor, she goes to her beloved with compassion and care.
Dumuzid smiles; “O sweet maiden Inanna, O my Queen; do not be alarmed, for this is the blood of the pomegranate seed, of which are many and sweet. For the pomegranate is filled with life and is surely the most divine.”
The Queen releases her beloved and raises her slender arms in anger. For she is the trickster not the tricked. She smiles and sings sweetly; “O love of Inanna, O sweet lord; the pomegranate may be filled with life but Inanna shall not grant it the sweet flesh of the plum. Inanna shall not grant it sweet flesh but hard and ill making to hide its glory and divinity.”
Even the most divine of fruit can become a trial; for eating a pomegranate is a trial of patience is it not my friend? Seed by seed; life by life. Much of life becomes the trial does it not?
To Chapter Forty-Two – Fecundity
The Angry Farmer 