ancient culture

Ishtahar

From Storm Constantine’s Stalking Tender Prey

***

I am the daughter of Hebob, the farmer, who is held in esteem by the Shining Ones; the Lords who live in the High Place, beyond the lower plains. My father has spreading lands, here below the mountains. The Shining Ones came here in the time of my grandmother’s mother. Before this time, it is said we were like animals.

Now we are more like them; the Tall Ones, the Anannage. They are very beautiful, but we see them rarely. Where they came from, nobody knows, but they have given us the knowledge of the mystery they call their Source, which is beyond the light of the stars.

Perhaps the Annanage came down from this unfathomable place themselves, or perhaps they were once like us; smaller people, who changed. Only the male elders of the village know the answer to this. The Anunnage tell us we will change, and one day our children will spread throughout the world, like they have, taking knowledge with them.

I am the Oracle of my people; the Gate to the Starry Firmament.
Without women of my kind, the knowledge and science that the Anunnake teach us cannot be practiced.
I am Sacred.

Our temple has a tier of sloping roofs, and stands in the centre of a sea of corn, approached by four radial paths. The people of the lower plains come to it at sunset, when the swelling harvest moon hangs her belly in the sky; red as the blood of birthing.

Tomorrow is the Day of Harvest, and now I am Priestess of the Festival; giving sacrifice before the Cutting.

Here, in the Temple, my Sisters have helped me to feed the Perpetual Flame, and now it burns high; a blue blade of Light.

Usually, it is small, but it is never extinguished.
The men sit around me in a circle as I enter the Flame.
They are farmers and astronomer-priests;
my father among them.

At this time of year, my people need guidance on how to align with the right constellations the position of the crops, once they are harvested.
It is of great importance.

My sisters fan me with sweet incense — their low, lovely voices taking me deep into the Sacred Trance.

Through Me, the Renowned Old Ones
— Ancestors of the Anunnaki —
will speak.

I channel their Wisdom to the men;
yet the meaning of the words I speak is hidden from me.

I am the Fount of All Knowledge.
My Womb is the All-Seeing Eye.
I am the Stargate, whose mind can pass without challenge through the portal of the Stellar Veils.

Without Me, there can be no commerce with the Ancestors;
yet the men will not share their knowledge with me, or my Sisters.
It is Forbidden.

The Flame burns higher, excited by the voices of my Sisters — their supple genuflexions.

Their ankles are braceleted with bells, which utter Sacred Music.

Their long hair sways like unravelled linen; their faces veiled to prevent their breath polluting the Flame.

I feel the Stars descend upon me; their white fire in my skin — their empyreal voices in my head; behind my eyes.

It comes to me: this cold, white feast of knowledge. Yet I am only the taster, who must pass the plate on to the men who wait to feed.

Why am I denied?

I know I have the power to go further than my elders would allow. I can feel their sacred staffs pointed towards the flame; pointing towards Me. It feels like the weight of chains.

Why can my spirit not fly free and move through the sacred spheres of Knowledge — without the Commandments of Men?

I would bestow my power to ALL my Sisters, and become Queen of my people.

The men can feel this. That is why I am denied.

They fear me, for they know nothing of the power of being Female — Generator of Life, and Channeler of Wisdom.

They fear All Women.

Yes; it is this.

My spirit enter the Gate in the Constellation of Orion [the Hunter].

The Renowned Old Ones approach me. I can sense their flaming Presence, yet cannot see them with my eyes of flesh.

My lips move around sounds which have no meaning to me. The men say, “She speaks in tongues”, and they pour sand upon the floor in precise patterns to record my words.

Later, they will argue over the symbols and signs, until they are sure they know their secrets.

The secrets will not be revealed to me.

Before me, this beautiful Being whom I cannot understand. Neither man or woman, there is no distinction in their kind.

All I feel is the resonance of the tonaal sounds they generate, and their invisible hands upon my brow — igniting the fibres of my soul.

And the words come, passing into the world and the Ears of Men.

I beseech the Ancestors, “Reveal to ME the Sacred Names; for I would use them well!”

“Give ME the knowledge that men covet!”

“Am I not worthy? Do you not look upon me with Love, and give me the touch of your Holy Hands?”

But still the words that tumbe from my mouth are meaningless to me. If I try hard enough, will the forms of the words change in my head — become real?

No. I have tried. I always try.

The Renowned Old Ones draw away from me, and it is time to retreat from the Stargate.

I feel the pull in my skin, dragging my soul back into the Temple.

Yet, as my spirit travels, I sense an unseen Presence:

something Different.

It seem to me as if a voice is speaking. At last, the words have meaning.

You will gather the Harvest of Knowledge through your own Power;

the Power you have yet to discover;

A Power I have yet to use.

The voice is Male, and rings like a clarion across the Heavens;

yet whispers as soft as the feet of a mouse running over the grain.

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