*ereshkigal. - Tumblr Posts
Camelot and Babylonia doodles
★ 【ねこのけだま】 「 エレイシュ 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter
Friendly reminder that, despite Enkidu mellowing out a lot from lore and is more polite after summoning, they are still about that action and it's on sight if they want to throw hands with you to the point eresh wants to befriend them to avoid conflict or have some protection against quetz
Mesopotamian gods designs for an animation I’ve been working on lately (for my university, huh).
Goofy stuff.
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.
These are the children of Ereshkigal, the dark-eyed: Ninazu, by Gugulanna Heaven's-Bull Namtar, by Father Enlil who sits enthroned in state Nungal, by the queen of the dead and the dust of time that keeps her secrets. These are their titles. Ninazu, city-god, Enega and Ešunna, death-and-life through vegetation and the shadow of the never-never in his blood. Pitiless mace of war, dying and rising serpent-friend. He will suck the poison from your wounds. Namtar, inexorable. Right hand of the sinister, mouth of hell's crown, messenger of An and Ereshkigal and Nergal. Commander of demons whose very name breathes a plague, unfaltering fate, dutiful minister of his mother's court, Death who is the issue of the Dead's All-Mother. Nungal, the neck-stock, the dusty threshold bolt, the screaming lock, the fanged river of ordeals. Rebirther, reformer, who dwells in the mountain where Utu rises. Hers is that corner of the underworld man can return from reforged, the house of dust and shadows where a broken man sheds his old skin or wears it as burial shroud. Goddess Prison-Warden, her mother's daughter in the realm of men, radiant hope and beautiful despair, cool water of compassion on fevered brows. Hear their names in the bellow of a bull, in the snarl of a dragon, in the tolling-bell tones of their mother and as soft as crematory ash. They sit on the borderline like ravens on a fence, silent dark eyes and subtle croaked secrets, twilight-and-dawn owls, young-and-old serpents. Poison and healing, life found in death. Fear. Learn. Become braver for it. Ereshkigal, for deserved awe of you and your children, may your names be marked by the black-headed ones.
The raging crown of Summer,
Livid over maddened eyes-
The heady burn of dry air
Poised on the precipice
Of swallowing whole
Half the country in a blinking
and the other half in terror
of the too-green arms that strangle
Gentle blossoms in their beds.
All that, child’s play,
A matchbox world in idle hands
As they fiddle with the package
Fray the edges soft with age
And remember of an evening
When the sky is black with soot
The loam-dark halls beneath the earth
That welcomed his fury, and gave birth
To the fiery death of melancholy
As the smoldering fields of war
Swallowed the heads he piled
on the doorstep of Death
And the welcoming graves split the earth
As a lover welcomes
Her soldier home.
(He caresses her in the trenches,
Kisses her steel,
Breathes in her cyanide perfume
And laughs at the way the earthworks growl as he leaves their cold embrace.
Soon, love, soon,
And when I come to bed at last
I will grip you
As the roots of the hanging tree
Grip the veins of the earth,
And love you
As surely as the fire loves a witch,
As the sweet rotting contagion
Loves a warm bosom
In which to sleep
and strengthen anew.)
