The Libation of Tears, Part Two

Empathy and the Trickster in The Descent of Inanna

Ereshkigal celebrating her triumph, British Museum

This week I continue my exploration of how empathy opens the heart and can restore life to desert places, both literally and metaphorically, through the first epic poem in Western Civilization, “The Descent of Inanna.”

The goddess Inanna was known as the Queen of Heaven and Earth, the first known name for the Great Mother, and was later known as Ishtar and Isis in subsequent Mesopotamian civilizations. Like Gaia and Rhea in the Greek tradition, or the goddess Papa in Hawai’i, Inanna is a force of nature. Even though we hear of her personal journey in “The Descent of Inanna,” her voyage down is esoteric and expresses larger cycles of nature. It is also an instruction manual on how to maintain the balance between humans and nature in an agricultural society. These directions are not explicit. They are told through the events of the story. In our time, these events have psychological and sociological resonance that I feel can contribute much to our understand of the human inner journey.

Let’s jump right into the story.

---

The Descent of Inanna

Was I prepared when I heard the call of The Great Below? No. No one is. Not even a goddess like me. I abandoned my temples. I gathered together the seven visible powers of my divinity. I knew I would need them to face the dangers of the Underworld. I knew there was no guarantee I’d make it back again to this world I loved so-the world of honey wine and my sweet shepherd Dumuzi, a world of flute song and feathered fingertips brushing over my oiled body, the smell of frankincense and jasmine, of flower baths and long, deep kisses that melted me in places that weren’t even frozen. Oh, how I loved this world-my sweet shepherd, the adoration in the temples. It would be more than hard to leave, but I had heard the call of my dark sister Ereshkigal. I was Queen of Heaven and Earth. She was Queen of the Underworld.

I placed the shugurra on my head, the crown of the steppe where the horses were wild, arranged my mane of raven-black hair artfully across my forehead. I was both coy and commanding.

Next I roped a double-strand of lapis beads around my neck, bright blue beads draping over my breasts. The chill of the stone raised my nipples and I shivered, wondering if I’d ever again feel the nip of my husband’s teeth.

I wrapped the royal robe around my body and dabbed my eyes with the ointment so aptly named, “Let him come, let him come!” I bound the breastplate called, “Come, man, Come!” to my chest. I was ready to face whatever Ereshkigal could throw at me.

When I’d slipped the gold ring over my finger and took the lapis measuring rod and line in hand, I was ready, except for one last thing. I turned to my faithful servant Ninshubur. 

“Ninshubur, my faithful servant, I am bound for the Underworld. This may be the last time you’ll see me. My sister is wailing in the deep and I must go to her.”

“I know, I know, I hear you. Let her be. What has she ever done for me? But for some reason I can’t explain I know I just have to go down. Something beyond me requires it. I have to go.”

Ninshubur regarded me in silence. She would do anything for me. I knew that.

“Before I go, I’ll ask one last thing of you, dear servant. If I don’t return in three days arrange a lament for me by the ruins and beat a drum for me in the assembly places. Circle the gods’ houses. Tear at your eyes and mouth and thighs. Dress yourself in a single garment like a beggar. Go to Nippur, to the temple of Enlil, Lord of the Wind, and beseech him not to let his daughter be put to death in the Underworld. Beseech him not to let me, his bright silver dull, his precious lapis be covered with dust and broken into stone, his fragrant boxwood cut and burned. Tell him, that I who am all this beauty, am in the Underworld and he must save me.”

“If Enlil refuses go to Ur, to the temple of Nanna. Weep before Father Nanna, god of the moon. If Nanna will not help you, Go to Eridu, to the temple of Enki. Weep before Father Enki. Father Enki, god of wisdom, god of water, god of mischief, will know what to do. He knows the secret of the food and water of life. He won’t let me die.”

I left Ninshubur and continued on. Down, down, down I walked until I arrived at the outer gates of the Underworld. I knocked and cried out, “Gatekeeper, open the door!” in a bold voice.

It took more than a bold knock to get Neti to open the gate. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“I am Inanna, Queen of Heaven,” I thundered. “On my way to the East. Open the gate.”

Even though I knew he believed me, it wasn’t his job to make getting through the gate easy. “If you are truly Inanna, Queen of Heaven,” he countered, "on your way to the East, why has your heart led you on the road from which no traveller returns?”

I didn’t cajole or pander to him. I gave him the simple truth. I was a Queen, take it or leave it. “I journey on the road from which no traveler returns to answer the cries of my older sister, Ereshkigal, Queen of the Underworld. Her husband, Gugalanna, the Bull of Heaven, has died. I have come to witness the funeral rites.”

“Well, then,” Neti spoke, as if this was just an ordinary day, “Stay here. I will speak to my queen. I will relay your message.” He turned from me and retreated from the outer gate, disappearing into the deep interior where my sister awaited me. She knew I was coming. I could hear it in her wailing. Our showdown had been fated since the moment the world had been made.

Being a goddess and a queen I had superpowers. I could hear Neti clearly when he came before my sister’s throne. “My Queen, a maid tall as heaven, wide as earth, strong as the foundation of a city wall waits outside the palace gates. She says she is your sister. She has gathered the seven sacred objects. She is wearing the shugarra on her brow, her dark hair is carefully arranged, the lapis beads are around her throat and the double strand of beads adorn her breastbone. She is wrapped in the royal robe and her eyes are wide with the ointment ‘Let Him Come, Let Him Come.’ Her chest bears the breastplate, ‘Come, Man, Come!’ The gold ring is on her finger. She carries the lapis measuring rod and line in her hand. She says she is here to witness your husband’s funeral rites. She is asking to see you. Should I let her enter?”

Ereshkigal heard all this. Her husband Gugallana, The Bull of Heaven, was dead at the hands of Enki and Gilgamesh. I had played a part in his death, but we both knew I was just following the course of our shared fate. And now here I was right on time, playing my part, saying I wanted to witness the funeral rites. Even though she knew I would come, I could understand why she might not be pleased to see me. I had played a part in the death of her husband.

“Neti, my gatekeeper,” Ereshkigal spoke. “This is what you shall do: Bolt the seven gates of the Underworld, then, open them one by one-just a crack. Let Inanna enter. As she enters, remove her royal garments. Let the Queen of Heaven enter bowed low before me.”

Neti returned to me, bolting the gates behind him. He opened the outer gate, just enough for me to slip through. “Enter,” he proclaimed.

When I entered he motioned I should remove the shugurra from her head. “What’s this?” I demanded. “Remove my crown?”

“Hush, Inanna,” Neti told me. “The ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”

I could see I had no choice. I didn’t need a crown to know I was a queen. I removed the shurgarra, and with my hair tumbling in disarray to my shoulders, stepped fully into the Underworld and began walking to the second gate.

Once again, Neti opened the gate just a crack. This time he took my lapis beads. “What is this?” I asked once again.

The reply was the same, “Hush, Inanna. The ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.” I loved those beads, but the earth’s veins were rich with lapis. I would always have beads. I was the Queen of Heaven.

At the third gate Neti removed the double strand of lapis that adorned my breast, the ones that peaked my nipples and made my inner thighs tremble when I thought of Dumuzi’s lips on my honey pot.“What is this?” I was a little more shaken this time. If Neti noticed, he didn’t show it, answering in the same flat voice. “Hush, Inanna. The ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”

When Neti opened the fourth gate to let me squeeze through he took my breast plate. “Let Him Come, Let Him Come!” was removed. Before I could even ask Neti answered: “Hush, Inanna, the ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.” So used to being in control, I was taken aback that he hadn’t even waited for me to speak, but I knew if I wanted to reach my sister I had to obey him.

At the fifth gate I offered my hand before he asked so he could remove the gold ring. Neti smiled like a dragon hoarding a treasure, hissing the answer to the question I mouthed without sound as if he’d stolen my voice, “What is this?”

“Hush, Inanna, the ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”

When I slipped through the cracked sixth gate, he took the lapis measuring rod and line from my hand.

I still had some pride. “What is this?”

Neti’s reply didn’t vary: “Hush, Inanna, the ways of the Underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”

Things were different at the seventh gate. Stripped of all signs of royalty and divinity, Neti told me now to remove my royal robe. “You will walk into the Underworld naked.”

“What is this?”

“Hush, Inanna, the ways of the underworld are perfect and may not be questioned.”

I entered my sister’s throne room naked. She rose and looked down on me. Now would be the moment we’d be reunited, all forgiven, grudges dropped, my sister, my Dark Queen! I took a step toward her.

Before my foot could touch the ground I was dead. Her judges, The Annuna, swarmed me, striking me dead with one blow. No chance to defend myself. No opportunity to explain. Already naked, I was now dead meat hanging upside down from a hook on the wall.

For three days and nights I hung there. The memory still makes me shudder. I wish that I had no memory of that time, of how after three days my grief-stricken servant Ninshubur set up a lament for me by the ruins and in the assembly places, just like she’d promised. She beat the drum for me and circled the gods’ houses. She tore at her eyes like I’d told her, and her mouth; she tore at her thighs. It was too awful to describe. How she bled and wailed while the dogs circled, expecting her to drop at any moment.

Dressed in a single garment like a beggar she did as I instructed, setting out for the temple of Enlil. When she entered the shrine she called out: “Father Enlil, god of wind, don’t let your daughter be put to death in the Underworld!”

“Don’t let you bright silver be covered with dust, your lapis broken into stone for the stoneworker, your boxwood cut for the woodworker. Don’t let the holy priestess of Heaven die in the Underworld!”

Angry Enlil, god of wind, answered, “Inanna, my daughter craved the Great Above. Why wasn’t it enough? She had to crave the Great Below. Anyone who receives the me of the Underworld does not return.” He wouldn’t help, the bastard.

Faithful Ninshubur didn’t get up. I knew I could trust her. She set off for Ur and the temple of the moon god, Nanna. When she entered the holy shrine she cried out. “Father Nanna, don’t let your daughter be put to death in the underworld! Don’t let your bright silver be covered with dust, your precious lapis broken into stone for the stoneworker. Don’t let your fragrant boxwood be cut into wood for the woodworker. Don’t let the holy priestess of heaven be put to death in the Underworld!”

Father Nanna’s answer was no different from Enlil’s. “My daughter craved the Great Above. And then she craved the Great Below. She who receives the me of the underworld does not return. She who goes to the Dark City stays there.” Father Nanna wouldn’t help either.

Ninshubur journeyed on to our last hope, the temple of Eridu where Enki, god of water, dwelt. When she entered the holy shrine she cried out. “Father Enki, don’t let your daughter be put to death in the Underworld! Don’t let your bright silver be covered with dust, your precious lapis broken into stone for the stoneworker. Don’t let your fragrant boxwood be cut into wood for the woodworker. Don’t let the holy priestess of heaven be put to death in the Underworld!”

“What’s happened?” Enki asked. Finally, my corpse sighed in relief. “What’s my daughter done? My dear Inanna, Holy Priestess of Heaven! Of course I’ll help!”

---

To me, this is where things really start to get interesting.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this essay, viewing this story from only a psychological lens fails to take into account the context of the Sumerian culture for whom it was a living myth that contained instructions on how to maintain the sacred balance between humanity and nature as agriculture results in the establishment of cities. Inanna’s journey down can be seen to represent the inevitability of the life/death cycle and the necessity of sacrifice to maintain right relationship with the holy as humans begin to extract more than they give back to the land through farming. Inanna, who chooses to descend, signifying a willingness to be part of this larger cycle beyond her individual desires, is stripped of all her adornments and killed before even being able to speak to her sister.

Who comes to her rescue? Not the hero Gilgamesh or the wild man Enkidu. Not her husband the sexy shepherd Dumuzi. Let’s go back to the story to find out:

He listened to Ninshubur, and when she was done, Enki, who was also the god of mischief, removed dirt from under his fingernail and molded the dirt into a kurgarra, a creature neither male nor female. From the dirt under his other fingernail he shaped a galatur.

“Listen up you mischievous imps,” he addressed his creations. “You, kurgarra, take the food of life. Galatur, you carry the water of life. When you get to the Underworld gates turn yourselves into flies and buzz on through. Keep going till you get to the throne room.”

“Ereshkigal is about to give birth to her dead husband’s child. She will be moaning. You will find her naked, bare breasted, her hair swirling around her head like leeks. Don’t be afraid. Hold yourself together and transform back into your imp shape. She will be in too much pain to wonder how you got there. When she starts to cry out, ‘Oh! Oh! My inside!’ you cry out also, ‘Oh! Oh! My inside!’ Echo whatever she says. She will be pleased and offer you a gift. Refuse everything she offers. Ask for only one thing: the corpse hanging on a meathook from the wall.”

Before we go back into the story I want to point out that the Kurgarra and the Galatur are tricksters, instructed by Enki to fool Ereshkigal. It is also not clear what gender they are. Scholars generally refer to them as androgynous, which in our time we might name as non-binary or trans. Indigenous cultures throughout time, and even today, call figures like them “two spirits,” meaning they carry the wisdom of both genders. They have resolved the gender binary and operate from a holistic consciousness, moving beyond either/or thinking to a both/and way of being in the world. To me, they are the heroes we need right now.

---

The story continues…

The kurgarra and the galatur set out for the Underworld. They slipped through the cracks in the gates as flies and flew to Ereshkigal’s throne room. It was just as Enki said. No linen was covering her. Her breasts were uncovered. She was naked and hair swirled around her head like leeks. She was moaning. Oh! Oh! They moaned back. She was groaning. Oh! Oh! They groaned back. She moaned and groaned about her back and her belly, her heart and liver. It was piteous to hear. No matter how much she moaned and groaned, they didn’t desert her. They groaned back. They moaned back.

“Who are you, moaning and sighing with me?” she finally asked. “If you are gods, I will bless you. If you are mortals, I’ll give you a gift-endless water, the river in its fullness.”

The kurgarra and galatur remembered what Enki had told them. “We don’t want the gift of endless water, the river in its fullness,” they told her.

Ereshkigal insisted. “I will give you fields of grain in harvest.”

Not even tempted, the kugarra and galatur remained firm. “We don’t want your fields of grain.”

“Well, then,” Ereshkigal snapped, “What do you want?” Seriously. She was a Queen and they were two imps with mud on their faces.

Their answer was not what she expected: “We only want that corpse hanging on the meathook.”

“The corpse belongs to Inanna,” Ereshkigal told them.

“Whether it belongs to our queen or our king, That is our wish.”

My sister gave them my corpse. Before she knew what was happening the imps had sprinkled the food and water of life on my dead flesh. That was all it took to bring me back to life. Easy, right? I rose again. But the story wasn’t over…

Just as I was about to make my dignified ascent to be reunited with my faithful Ninshubur, my sons, and my lusty husband Dumuzi, I was seized. I knew better than to struggle.“No one ascends from the Underworld unmarked,” Neti the Gatekeeper had told me.

Someone was going to have to take my place.

I rose, not triumphant as I’d expected, but with the galla clinging to my side. Those demons who didn’t eat or drink, who didn’t accept offerings or drink libations or gifts, who didn’t even enjoy lovemaking and had no sweet children to kiss would trail me or take me back down. Who would take my place in the Underworld?

Outside the palace gates, Ninshubur waited in a torn and dirty dress. When she saw me emerge surrounded by the galla she threw herself at my feet in the dust. The galla said, “Walk on, Inanna. We shall take Ninshubur in your place.”

“No!” I cried. “Not Ninshubur. She didn’t forget me. Ninshubur is the one who set up a lament for me at the ruins and beat the drum for me at the assembly places. She is the one who circled the gods’ houses. Look at her dressed like a beggar!”

“Ninshubur tore at her own eyes and mouth and thighs. She did everything I asked-set off alone to the temple of Enlil at Nippur to ask for help. When Enlil refused she journeyed to Ur and beseeched Nanna. When Nanna said no, she kept on going to Eridu. She never gave up. She found Enki, who sent the kurgarra and galatur to revive me. She saved my life. I will never give Ninshubur to you. You may not take her.”

The galla didn’t argue. “Walk on,” was all they said. “We will go with you to Umma.”

In Umma at the holy shrine they found Shara, my son, dressed in dirty sackcloth. When he saw me with the galla clinging to me he threw himself at me feet, gagging on the dust. The galla said, “Walk on to your city, Inanna. We will take Shara in your place.”

“No! Not Shara! Not my son who sings hymns to me. Who cuts and smoothes my hair. I will never give him to you!”

Again, they didn’t protest. “Walk on,” the bloodless galla said. “We will journey with you to Badtibira.”

I knew they were playing the long game, that there was no denying them, but I didn’t know what else to do. I walked on as they told me, dreading the moment I knew would come, though not knowing who I could possibly sacrifice.

When we got to the holy shrine at Badtibira we found Lulal, my other son, mourning in dirty sackcloth. He, too, threw himself at my feet when he saw the galla clinging to my robe.

“Inanna, walk on,” the galla repeated. “We will take Lulal in your place.”

Inanna cried out, “No! Not my son Lulal. He is a great leader, my right arm. My left arm! I will never give him up.” Relentless, patient, the galla said to me, “Walk on to your city, Inanna. We will go with you to the big apple tree in Uruk.”

In Uruk, by the big apple tree, we found Dumuzi, my sweet husband, not in mourning, not in sackcloth with torn hair and thighs, but dressed in shining garments, reveling in the royalty he gained by marrying me. The galla stayed silent. Nobody spoke.

Nobody needed to. Dumuzi knew the moment he saw my eyes. Resistance was futile. Before he could move the galla seized him, knocking over his seven churns so that his cream poured onto the ground. They broke his reed pipe. Dumuzi would take my place in the Underworld.

Dumuzi blubbered of course. He was a mama’s boy and I had coddled him, too. He raised his hands to Utu, the God of Justice, and begged.“Utu! I’m your brother-in-law. Your sister’s husband. This is just a bit of temporary insanity. I know you remember the truth of who I am. I brought cream to your mother’s house and milk to Ningal. I carried food to the holy shrine and wedding gifts to Uruk. I am the one who danced on the holy knees of Inanna! I know you are just and merciful. Change me into a snake so that I can escape from these demons! Don’t let them hold me!”

Utu, unlike me, was merciful. He accepted Dumuzi’s crocodile tears. He changed him into a snake and my pan-piping, creamy hipped husband escaped. The demons could not hold him.

---

In the end, nobody’s heroic actions restore Inanna to life. This is not a direct assault of the fortress, rather a sneaky and somewhat lighthearted rescue mission you might see in a comedy, rather than a tragedy.

And what is the weapon? Not a sword or lightning bolts. Empathy. The androgynous trickster imps are granted Inanna’s corpse because they empathize with Ereshkigal.

It does bear asking if they really mean it. After all, they only did what Enki told them to do. Because this is an epic poem meant to shape a culture rather than elucidate psychological processes, we aren’t privy to the inner worlds of the kurgarra and the galatur.

I’m going to assert it doesn't matter if they were just acting. Ereshkigal believes them. She feels seen and heard. She offers the tricksters a gift and they restore Inanna with the food and water of life.

What would have happened if they had just assaulted her and demanded Inanna’s corpse? Most likely Ereshkigal would have defended herself. More death and destruction would have ensued. Crops would have withered in the fields. People would have died from starvation. We might not be here now.

Popular emotional researcher Brené Brown says there are four parts to demonstrating empathy:

1. Perspective Taking, or putting yourself in someone else's shoes.

2. Staying out of judgement and listening.

3. Recognizing emotion in another person that you have maybe felt before.

4. Communicating that you can recognize that emotion.

The kurgarra and the galatur demonstrate all four.

Inanna’s husband Dumuzi, as far as we can tell from the original text, fails at all four. Instead of mourning his wife, he parties. However, since he’s only doing his part as the dying god that ensures the life/death cycle will continue, I suggest we let him off the hook. He has to end up in the Underworld. The fact that we might perceive that as punishment has a lot to say about how we view death, both the final leave-taking of our physical body and the initiatory ego deaths that help us prepare for the final letting go.

One final reflection before I sign off. One of the things that’s been niggling at me is how can we promote empathy. Brain researchers actually view it as a right brain hemisphere deficit and actually use the words “brain damage” to describe it. As a left brain culture, empathy does not come naturally to individuals dominated by the distorted masculine that has forgotten the Great Mother intuited by the right brain without effort.

Lost in subjectivity, we despair that we can ever get out of the messes we’ve made. War against our fellow humans and the planet seem inevitable. “It’s just human nature,” you hear people say. Except it’s not. As Iain MacGilchrist demonstrates in The Master and His Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World, the left brain thinks it’s in control and has essentially forgotten the existence of the right brain. Biologically, this is not true as scientists have proven that all of the functions of the left brain can also be executed by the right brain. The left brain has forgotten who’s in charge.

Enki was the god of of wisdom, fresh water, intelligence, mischief, healing, creation, fertility, and art. His intelligent magic often included trickery to benefit the good of the human race, which is exactly how I see the actions of the imps he sent to rescue Inanna. Even if it was a trick. Even if they didn’t feel Ereshkigal’s pain, look at the result. Inanna, Queen of Heaven, restored to life. The world goes on.

To read the original source material see:

Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer, by Diane Wolkstein and Samuel Kramer, Harper and Row, 1983.

Kō aloha lā ea

Concentrate on love by way of the light