Hymn to Inanna

LET IT BE KNOWN

I worship the Goddess.

The one with tangled hair
where insects nest.

The one with blood-soaked thighs.

The one who crushes my concepts
with her razor teeth
and spits my mind into the wind.

She shakes her belly to the beat
of primordial passion
and feasts on the meat of ignorance.

She wanders in the garden with a basket
woven with the chaos of stars.

She is naked
and savouring
every petal and thorn.

She churns the wheel of time
and casts the seeds of manifestation,
without rhyme or reason.

She is senseless and crazy,
innocent and free.

Her skin is the colour of heartbreak
and her eyes the sound of laughter.

She takes no prisoners.
She cannot be contained or rationalized.

She won’t conform to my ideas of
what reality is
or how things should be.

Just when I think I have her under control
she takes – me – down.

She will not be dominated;
she always wins.

She stomps to the beat
and throws her hips.

She is the prowl of the panther
and the leaping deer of supreme delight.

Her hair smells of tobacco
and pine.

She carries a knife in her pocket
and holds a lily in her hand.

She is pure in heart.

She is the darkness of thunder.

She is the undercover agent of divine madness,

whose ruthlessness is the compassion
that severs my ignorance
and undoes my separation,

so that I may know her deeply
and drink in the wild radiance
of her holy mess.

With all that I am
I submit to her.

With all that I am
I prostrate before her insane beauty.

She demands the death
of all my control.

When I am humble and true,
she comes to me.

“Dance!” she says.
“Why aren’t you dancing?”

I surrender all reason;
she will not be tamed.

My submission is my devotion.

I have tried to control her
in ten thousand ways,

tried to seduce her
into my happiness

Yet she is the grace
that smashes all hope,

and opens up
the blessed wound of living.

When I am exhausted and weary,
she brings me to my knees.

Her muddy feet
are the altar of worship;

the palace of freedom
where joy is born.

I love her:
this feral beast woman,

spinning chaos and tenderness
with her finger tips,

whose tongue speaks
no meaning,

whose laughter
is the rose of shameless beauty,

whose smile is the sword
the slays all striving.

To the one who can never be
possessed or contained,
I submit.

To the one who is drenched
in the nectar of love,

to the one who demands
nothing less.

to the goddess of reality,

I dance with her
because
there is nothing left to do.

I dance with her
because
there is nothing left to do.

Song by Maya Luna
Image is EARTH #2 by BK The Artist, Brian Kirhagis