Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Ishtar Rising

Goddess of the New Light, by Pamela Matthews

As the sun drops below the horizon, and the moon, pregnant with longing, rises up over the new born Spring, the wheel turns, and Ishtar awakens in the underworld.  She has slumbered long, too long, here in her sister's realm, in the realm of the Dead, where the rivers run only with dust, where the polluted sea meets the bitter land.

Ishtar awakens, the Purim moon rises, Death gives way to the Spring.  Ishtar, Gleaming Goddess, Shining One, Torch of Heaven, Daughter of Morning, Herald of Day, Ishtar stretches, and shudders, and laughs and sighs.

At her right, Justice.  On my left, Goodness.  Set like stars in my crown shine Audience, Favor, and Peace.  All around me shine Life and Wellbeing.

Clarity!  Brilliance!  Dominion!
Clarity!  Brilliance!  Dominion!
Clarity!  Brilliance!  Dominion!

The way ahead is bright.  The way ahead is clear.  The way up from below, up from beneath, the way up and ahead is clear and bright.

The first step out of the underworld.  The deepest gate, the seventh gate, the root at the center of being.  The gate thrown open, I pick up my dress, sparkling white, radiant and agleam with power.  I put on my dress, sparkling white, radiant and agleam with power.  I, myself, am sparkling white, radiant and agleam with power.

The sixth gate, the azure gate, the stillness and quietude of the abyss.  The gate of Marduk thrown open,  I pick up my robe, indigo blue, the robe of the heavens, the protective shield of the gods' love  I put on my robe, indigo blue, heaven's grace, the protective shield of God's love.  I, myself, am indigo blue, am heavenly grace, the Beloved of the God of the gods.

The fifth gate, the gate of the flesh, the cauldron of breath and of flame.  The gate of Fire thrown open, at last, I pick up my sword and I wield it.  I pick up my swore, aflame and enflamed, strong and true and brave, the sword of my will and my breath.  I wield my sword, red and shining, strong and true, the sword of my breath and my flame.  I, myself, and red and shining, strong and true, a sword of will and flame.

The fourth gate, the gate of the sun, the golden gate at the center of Being.  I pick up my heart, polished by flame, strong and pure and alive.  I swallow my heart, feel it slip slide to my chest, slick and beating, alive.  My heart is warm, polished in flame, strong and pure and alive.  I, myself, am warm and enlivened, polished and strong and pure.

The third gate, the malachite gate, the gate of the forest and rivers, Ishtar's own gate, the Lion's gate, the gate of the hands and the throat.  I pick up my necklace, of amber and lapis, my necklace of joy, gold, and gleam.  I wear the necklace of joy at my throat, the rune the tells blessing and light.  I, myself,  am the Amber-Haired Queen, the Golden One, Gleaming, I shine.  I myself am Joyful, am Blessed, am Light that shines through the leaves.

The second gate, the Quicksilver gate, the gate of the throat, of the tongue, of the Word, the gate of the Name of the Lord.  I pick up my voice, long lost, long silenced, my words and my wiles and wit.  I shout out in joy, I speak poems and hymns, my lips drip with honey and wine.  I bellow my words I whisper my wiles, I write blog posts that showcase my wit.  I, myself, am wiley and witty, I myself am Brilliance and Shine, I myself am the Word of the Making, the Quicksilver Speaker of Fate.

The first gate, Phoebe's gate, Shining One, Grandmother Mine.  The gate of oracular insight, the gate of the clearest of minds.  The gate is thrown open, I pick up my crown, the crown of the moon and the stars.  The eight-pointed gem gleams at the center, the crown of the Queen of the Earth.  I put on my crown, of the moon and the stars, of the eight-pointed star of the Earth.  I, myself, am the Queen of the Earth, of the Heavens, of the Places Beneath, the sun and the moon, the planets, the stars, the center of being, the edges of time, the depths of the deeps, the light and the dark and the thing in between.  I am the Queen of Heaven and Earth, the Mother of Ten Thousand Things.


  1. Ms. Masters - I'm writing this comment here because I'm hoping to avoid the publicity of the front page. I listened to an interview you did gave on "Deeper Down the Rabbit Hole" and something you said really stuck with me. I have a question and I was wondering if I might be able to email you. If not, I'd be happy to post it here, but if possible I'd like to keep my ignorance under wraps. Thank you.

  2. If you leave your email, I'll email you. Also, it's "Mastros", not "Masters"

  3. Oh, so sorry! I truthfully knew that, it's just that "The Professor" sounds so official - even a touch imperial - and the air it gave off made me wont to reflect the same elsewhere. But thank you. My email is