Meet Ninshubah

Those of you who know me well (well, as well as can be known from what one says – and doesn’t say – in writing) will know how much I love the myth of Inanna, the Sumerian goddess and queen who seems – to me at least – to represent the totality of a woman’s experience.  She moves from youthful innocence, exuberance and heady sensuality, through maturity, power, motherhood and queendom (queenery? queenness? queenity?) to soul-searching, darkness and, ultimately, inner wisdom and knowledge. 

She realises that there is meaning below ground as well as above and takes one of the great archetypal descents in mythology – to visit her dark sister Erishkegal (her shadow side).  As she descends she sheds the outer trappings of success and the world, faces the dark and is killed and hangs on the meat-hook.  Meanwhile, above ground, she is betrayed, abandoned, let down, forgotten. 

Ah, but we are always alone in the underworld.  Ultimately we are all alone.  Wherever we are.

Now there is a character in this who is usually overlooked in the commentaries.  No, not Dumuzi, Inanna’s consort, who frankly doesn’t give a damn that she is stuck in hell.  No.  It’s Ninshubar, Inanna’s sukkal, her servant.  Servant is not really the right word - a sukkal can often have powers greater than his or her master or mistress (which, in itself, is worth pondering). 

Bear with me.  Now it is Ninshubar who arranges Inanna’s rescue.  At which point every woman reading this is probably nodding vigorously. Because, let’s face it, if you wanna be rescued, never rely on a man – your girlfriends are always the ones to pull you up from a pit. Men often fear the dark emotions - they shudder at the meat-hook - despite their love of war, their desire for violence, they generally shy from bloody and messy emotions.  But a woman will jump up and hold your weight, won't take a blind bit of notice of the blood and gore, will stand firm and hold you.

But, more than that (and this is – finally – my point); it is Ninshubar who does the ‘above ground’ stuff while Inanna is shifting, changing, going down deep within; plunging the depths of the abyss; being ripped to tiny shreds.  And yes, as in all myths, Ninshubar is another part of Inanna – a fraction of the whole.

And so it is in life.  Few of us are able to sink totally into our deepest selves when the meat-hook commands.  All those who battle with the dark know this. We have responsibilities; we have children; we have partners; we have jobs and mortgages and bills to pay.  So somehow – no matter how hard it may be - we have to put on the brave face, we have to strap on a mask and pretend we’re okay – to ourselves as well as the outer world.  We have to function – at some basic level – even if we feel like our limbs are being torn apart.  And that’s Ninshubar – the quiet, necessary part of the psyche that puts on the semblance of normality; that smiles, that laughs, that says the right things, that keeps everything ticking over.  No more than ticking, because that would be superhuman.  But ticking is enough.

Thank feck for Ninshubah.

Just don’t look too closely.  Don’t look into her eyes.  Because they are dead.  Stone cold dead.

Swamplands of the Soul, Infinity and Revenge

I’ve been living in a daze but I think I may finally be starting to wake up. I had a fallout with a friend just before the weekend and it triggered a surprising response in me. I realised, very suddenly and painfully, that I’d been projecting a huge amount of my deeper ‘stuff’ onto her. She was carrying all the tough, dark, difficult parts of me: the depression, the anxiety, the loneliness, the fear of rejection and frequent feelings of despair and worthlessness. She also held all the more interesting parts too: the intellectual enquiry, the spirituality, the psychology, mythology, poetry, music and art. While she was there, doing all the work, I was able to hide away and numb myself with a frenzy of social networking, of Spider Solitaire and other distractions. Foolish me.

So over the weekend I turned off the computer and made time to start a bit of work on my self, on my soul. A small start, for sure, but a valuable one. I pulled an armchair into a corner by the window, where I could look out and watch the wisteria blowing in the wind; where I could see the exclamation marks of day-glo azaleas amidst the green on green. I played Nick Drake, Ray Lamontagne, Davy Spillane, Sean Tyrrell and Conor Keane. I re-read James Hollis’s amazing book Swamplands of the Soul and started re-reading another of his books, The Middle Passage.
In the last ten years since I had James (like many mothers, I suspect) I’ve ignored my soul. I’ve abased it, abused it and neglected it. No wonder it is sore. No wonder my body is causing me pain. When one neglects the soul, the body reacts too and flinches and cowers from the abuse.

Jung said that ‘the goal of life is not happiness but meaning’. James Hollis reaffirms this and states that:

‘There is no sunlit meadow, no restful bower of easy sleep; there are rather swamplands of the soul where nature, our nature, intends that we live a good part of the journey, and from whence many of the most meaningful moment of our lives will derive. It is in the swamplands where soul is fashioned and forged, where we encounter not only the gravitas of life, but its purpose, its dignity and its greatest meaning.’

So yes, I’m in a swamp but I think that is OK.

‘You think too deeply, that’s your problem,’ said Adrian with a sigh.
‘No. I don’t think deeply ENOUGH,’ said I with a grimace.
‘Well you worry too much. I don’t know anyone else who worries about infinity.’
He’s right. I do. I can make myself dizzy thinking about forever. My head spins (not literally, that would be wrong) when I try to trek out beyond the known universe. But doesn’t everyone do that?
‘Er, no.’

James, meanwhile, is worried about school. He came home looking shifty.
‘Did you hear?’
Hear what? About how he had been accidentally knocked into a puddle by a boy a year younger and had waited an hour to take his revenge stone cold - which entailed carefully placing all said boy’s sports kit in the showers? Er, yup, had had a call from the headmaster about that one.
I smiled ruefully and he smiled back.
‘I’ve got to write apology letters.’
‘Sounds reasonable.’
‘Yeah.’
He took it on the chin and I confess I was impressed – not least that he actually wrote more than:

‘Dear X

I’m sorry.

James.’

Things are looking up. However this morning, over breakfast, he was low again.
‘I’m worried about what people will say. I’m worried about what the teachers will say.’
So we sat on the sofa and had a bit of a hug.
‘You know what? There is no point in worrying about something until it actually happens. So, I’d suggest you don’t even think about it – until it does (and it might even not). Makes sense?’
‘Sort of.’

It does make sense. So today I am going to try to follow my own advice. I’m going to watch the rain, trace the auras of the trees and watch the blackbird making another nest, this time in the jasmine. Infinity still worries the hell out of me, but I figure I’ve got plenty of time to worry about it….


btw, have posted the piece I wrote for YOU magazine on blogging as therapy on my other blog

Plus pieces on EMDR and whether detoxing is dangerous.... click the links to read - and please do comment as I'd love to hear what you think - whether you agree or disagree or have any new, better ideas. This is a new venture for me and I'm aiming to get up a whole ton of my old features as a resource, now that so many of my books are out of print.

er, I have a new book out - apparently

Was idly wandering around Amazon, as you do, when stumbled upon a book called The Smudging and Blessings Book, just published. Hmm, looks nice, I thought, wonder who wrote that. Umm, turns out I did. Well, that was a weird way to start the day. A little explanation maybe is called for here. Years ago I was asked to put together The Smudge Pack – a book based on Native American cleansing and space clearing. The pack included a book, a smudge stick (a bundle of herbs you light and waft around to cleanse yourself, other people and your home). There was also a candle, a crystal and maybe some essential oil (it was so long ago I forget). At the time my publisher swore it was going to ‘go stellar’ and make me a wodge of money. Sadly she was wrong. This was around the time she told me I was going to become a ‘brand’ and yup, still waiting for that to happen. But now it seems the US publisher has brushed it off and repackaged the book. Nice I suppose but kind of wish someone had told me. I know my life is out of control but this really is ridiculous.

Maybe it’s time to google myself and find out if I’ve written any other books lately.

Actually I really have written a new book – at least I have a fleeting memory of typing furiously for a few months – so pretty sure it’s happening. I don’t usually plug my work on this blog but these are tough times so needs must and this one is quite amusing. It’s called The Mind Body Spirit Miscellany and should be coming out some time in the next few months (earlier in the US than in the UK). It was a hoot to write as I had to dig out unusual, useful and downright bizarre stories, facts and self-help tips from the broad wide fields of natural health, mythology, psychology, symbolism, religion, esoterica and the supernatural.

A few of my favourites include:

· how to conduct a home séance
· how to master lucid dreaming
· how to locate ley lines
· ghosts in the Viking sagas
· essential oils that pests hate
· water spirits of the world
· the ghost hunter’s tool kit
· how to practice CaoDai
· how to make herbal cough drops

As you can see, it’s all vital stuff. Of course, if I’d been smart I’d have written The Miscellany of Getting By and Making Do but hey ho, those kinds of books are going to be ten a penny and at least with mine you can have some fun while the ship is sinking.
Some of it is actually pretty useful – in a sort of left-field way. Take onychomancy. Heard of that? No, thought not. It’s a form of divination – the art of reading symbols formed by the reflection of sunlight on the oiled fingernails of a child? Grab a nearby child and try it. Tongue analysis can be handy too. Bet you didn’t know that if the right-hand side of your partner’s tongue is pink with a flecked texture, this can indicate lying and unfaithfulness?

I haven’t looked at Adrian’s lately and can’t right now as he’s off in Dorset on a brewery visit, having stayed overnight in some smart hotel. Hey ho. Better cop a look when he gets back. So it was left to James to get me up this morning.

‘It’s 7am, mum. Are you getting up?’
Oh shit.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll let the dog out – he’s been howling for the last hour.’
He has?

I am such a lousy mother. In fact, let’s face it, I’m pretty hopeless all round. My child has to get me up. I don’t even know I’ve got a new book out. I don’t even have a clean house or a tidy garden. While other career women are sitting in meetings or holding serious conference calls, I’m hurtling round a rollercoaster at pucking DisneyWorld. The older I get, the more disorganised and out of control I feel. I keep waiting for someone or something to haul me out of my torpor and shake me hard.

OK, off to pull myself together and get a grip. I might be some time. In the meantime, you can see the books I know I’ve written over at my new ‘serious’ blog – Never Knowingly Overwhelmed. It’s kind of a work in progress so let me know what you think. And do tell me if you stumble over any other books I might have written…..

By the way, there's still time to enter into the draw for FREE LEGO DUPLO.....just ask nicely in the comments section of the post before this.......the draw will take place on Sunday.