[It’s the end of an era and the start of something new. I’ve been primarily working with goddess archetypes as part of my practice since I was fourteen. Now it seems its time for me to move on. But, in honour of the feminine archetypes that have guided me thus far, this is the goddess series.]

I first read about Lilith in an astrology book and I fell in love. I just couldn’t believe what I was reading. Men and women were created at the same time! She was created to be his equal! She left him and went her own way when he refused to treat her as said equal! She was created out of mud and slime and all the scum that was left over after God made Adam? She left Eden without God’s permission because Adam wouldn’t let her be dominant? God sent his angels to drag her back and do her wifely duties? She was the serpent that tempted Eve into being disobedient just like her? She’s a demon who steals children?

I liked Lilith, she spoke to me. She was the woman rejected and punished for her supposed imperfections. She made so much more sense to me then Eve, the simpering little doormat, plus, she was taken out of the bible, she was erased! That made her even more appealing. I was a teenager, I wanted to be bad, I would steal bibles thinking it was ironic. 

I wanted to know everything about Lilith, I got deep into the mythology and drowned myself in it. Probably not normal for a teenager, but I didn’t understand normal. Normal meant lying and faking, dressing up, applying make-up and all that. I wanted to be normal, but not that much. Besides, it required a level of confidence I didn’t and still don’t possess. I don’t think I was ever supposed to be confident, it wasn’t something I could have. “Pride comes before a fall.” That’s what confidence in yourself is met with. Others tell you if you’re good or bad, it’s not something you get to decide for yourself. Lilith didn’t decide if she was good or bad, it was decided for her. 

There’s evidence to suggest though, that Lilith wasn’t an original, she was based on someone a lot older.

 (She arches her back against the chair, her dusty brown skin reminds me of fudge melting in the sun of a hot summer day. Her thick hair tumbles in three long plaits that fall down her head like tentacles. Her eyes blush green, the colour of waxed apples. Her bare feet make small waves in the carpet, enjoying the feel of the plush pile.)

Inanna:  My story began under an apple tree. (She begins, after she’s made herself comfortable.) I’ve found a lot of things to do with sin begin or end with apples. It didn’t start off that way. In my day the apple was something sacred, the apple was a symbol of fertility and womanhood, it belonged to us.

This apple tree was one of my favourites, I had planted it myself, in fact, I had planted all the trees in my garden, as well as the other plants, herbs and flowers. This tree however, had grown so lovely and full, it often got more of my attention. It had the most perfect trunk to lean against, it’s leaves provided shade in the Sumerian heat, and it was positioned next to a soft flowing river that fed the whole of my garden. 

The river water was sweet and clear and tasted like the blossoms that sometimes fell into it. It made me happy to be there, my spot by the river was almost a second home to me. At times I would even fall asleep there, until my father would send someone out to fetch me. 

On an incredibly hot, sticky day, I had gone outside to find some relief. I sat under my tree, hoping the breeze and shade would alleviate the boiling under my skin. Once out there, I quickly realised the only solution to my problem was to strip completely down and jump into the river. I never quite made it. 

I had taken off my clothing and was about to step into the water when I caught a glimpse of myself. My reflection fascinated me, it made me realise how like the earth I was, how like that land, that grew pretty flowers and bore fruit and nourished and fed its children. 

All of this was a revelation to me, I was connected to something, I was a part of a great movement, a cycle of the earth and of life. I wanted to share that revelation, and I’ll admit, I was taken over by it. 

Dumuzi, came walking through my garden. I assumed his father was probably visiting mine, I never questioned his presence. I should probably have been ashamed of my nudity, but I wasn’t, it was as natural to me as my apple tree, no one expects a plant to cover itself or hide. Besides, I was in the privacy of my own garden, he was the one trespassing. 

The stories say that my body seduced him, as though it was something I did, a one-sided violation on my part, he had no will or power of his own against it. But I will tell you now that what we had was a mutual giving, nothing was taken from either one of us.

After, things changed. Things were expected of me, and eventually, after what felt like attacks from all sides, I gave in. I married Dumuzi, surrounded by all our friends and family, and got used to the idea of being a wife. Two people, however, can have different ideas of what a marriage is and should be, and I learnt that the hard way. 

I had expected my life would remain as it was, with the addition of another person to love and journey with. Dumuzi expected that marriage would change me, that my new role in life would be to service him, to clean, to cook and take care of the household. Marriage hadn’t changed me, but it had changed him. He had never expected those things of me before, so it baffled me that he suddenly did. Baffled is a nice way of putting it, I wasn’t baffled at the time. I was disappointed in him, I’d expected more. I was angry, and not just at him, at everyone who had talked me into marriage. He was the only one I could take it out on, so take it out on him is exactly what I did, I sent him to hell.  

Once I’d calmed down, I began to feel guilt. It occurred to me that perhaps sending my husband to the underworld was somewhat, excessive. So, I devised a plan to get him out. I’ll admit that there may have been another motive behind my hasty action. I wanted to put him in his place, to show him that I hadn’t become something that belonged to him. Deep down, a small part of me, wanted to show him that I was the one with power, not him. I could send him to hell and I could get him out. I thought, maybe he would even be grateful when I rescued him, and finally show me the respect I wanted. 

I’d assumed too much, I think that was my sin, my one and only sin mind you, I had assumed. I’d made assumptions about marriage, I’d made assumptions about Dumuzi, and I made further assumptions about rescuing him from the underworld.

My sister Ereshkigal ruled the underworld and I’d thought it would be as simple as asking her to give Dumuzi back to me. I went down to see her, full of pride and dressed in all my regalia, because I didn’t just want to show Dumuzi who was in control, I wanted to show Ereshkigal too. 

When I got to the underworld, all the gates were locked to me, and all my sister’s guards had been given strict instructions to not let me pass. I argued with the gatekeeper, I demanded that he show me respect, all to no avail. Once I fell quiet, having argued myself to exhaustion, the gatekeeper explained that he would let me pass, but only if I gave him my crown. This only made me argue more, but eventually I could see no other way, it was only my crown, I could survive without it. Besides, I would still be a hero in Dumuzi’s eyes, once he saw me and knew I was there for him. 

It didn’t take long for me to reach the second gate, and I assumed it would have been opened to me when the first one was, my sin again, assuming. The gatekeeper explained to me that I could only pass in exchange for my necklace, and reluctantly I agreed. I convinced myself that Dumuzi was waiting for me, I convinced myself I was still the hero. 

At the third gate I was asked to remove my lapis lazuli beads, the fourth, my breastplate, the fifth my gold-arm band, the sixth, my measuring rod and line and at the seventh my royal robe. Once I had nothing, once I was naked and powerless, I was led to my sister’s chamber. I was too low to ask for explanation from her, I was too low to ask for anything at all. With one look from her I fell dead at her feet. 

What happened next was out of my control, so I suppose of no importance. I was dead, for three days, hung from a meat-hook, and brought back to life through a complicated series of events that had nothing to do with me. I was led out the way I came, picking up my discarded belongings as I did, they didn’t seem as important to me as they once did. My sister had taught me a lesson, a lesson that I had needed to learn, but I felt like a failure. Dumuzi was still trapped, and instead of turning around and fighting for him, I was taking my chance to retreat to my world. 

When I arrived home, I was met with song and laughter, again, I had assumed my house would be in mourning, I still hadn’t learnt that lesson yet. Dumuzi, having arranged his own release, was sitting on my throne. He’d made everything I owned his, he’d made himself king of my lands and was enjoying all the riches that title brought him. 

The second time I sent him to hell, I felt no guilt, no matter what the stories say, it was his time to die, as all kings eventually must. 

Me: But didn’t you return to the underworld, every six months, repeating the attempt to rescue him?

Inanna: Maybe. Or maybe I returned every six months to visit my sister. Men come and go, but sisterhood is a bond that should never have been broken.

Me: That sounds so new-age cliché. 

Inanna: That doesn’t mean it isn’t true.

Me: I’m pretty sure it does.