Inanna

inanna

There is a dreary mix of advice about writing and dreams. Some say our nighttime thoughts offer a unique gateway to our subconscious and anything we remember should be recorded. Others believe that they are just cluttered distractions for our mind as it performs a “disk defrag” and that we occassionally hook onto, and remember, an image or “clip”–usually out of context.

It is with this in mind that I make mention of a dream. The dream. About 25 years ago, I woke from another world, another life. It has affected every aspect of my life since that morning.

What follows is one of the first pieces that came out of that other place. The title comes from a goddess in Sumerian mythology that seemed to linger at the edges both in the literary sense and as a revenant of the dreams I stumbled upon. It’s also the name of a song by The Tea Party that helped me find the soundtrack and mood to write about what I witnessed.


Through the raven shadow 
     of star-filled night
the city of bronze awakes
     with amber light.
Beyond its walls
     of golden sands
a boy cries out
     with open hands.

Embodied by moonlight,
     she listens—
A serpent of silver, seizing
     tears that once glistened.
Her coiled eyes breathe in
     his laments,
and calm the heart's fears
     that cause his torments.

Flickering, she speaks in the tongue
          of deserts.

"To know darkness
     you must know light."

A secret from the sun
     whispered to his night.
Energy centers,
     it begins anew,
"A journey
     to what is true--
          I know."