Inanna at the Door

Spring arrived yesterday morning when the goddess Inanna knocked on my front door. Inanna chose to appear as a short Mexican-American woman, approximately 80 years old, attired in brightly-colored fleecewear. After she invited me to step out onto the sun-warmed bricks of my front walk, the goddess informed me that the temperature would reach 70 degrees Fahrenheit, and suggested that I might enjoy drinking my morning coffee sitting on my stoop, which is the little patch of brick and cement in front of my house. The chairs did indeed look inviting, clustered with potted plants against the stucco wall beneath my kitchen window, with everything bathed in bright sunlight. Inanna then scolded me for neglecting my plants. (My plants are all tough cactus and succulents–neglect is an essential strategy of my horticultural regimen.) To appease her, I gave her a handsome specimen for her own collection, a plant she had singled out for her particular attention. The plant had been given to me, and I was mostly ignoring it, so using it to curry favor with a divine entity seemed a judicious thing to do.

After Inanna left (she lives next door), I dusted off my chairs, freshened my coffee, and sat in the sun on my stoop/patio/porch-like-thing-in-front-of-my-house. On the street, an occasional car rumbled by. Birds chattered at each other, different birds with different voices, a jay scolded, a mocking bird practiced his scales, an unseen crow called in the distance. I closed my eyes so that I could turn my face to the sun and bask. I was amazed to see that the colors inside my eyelids were the same orange, red and magenta colors I had used for my invocation “Inanna Ascendant”.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed that green, supple weeds had sprung up instantly in the cracks in the cement, while my eyes had been closed.

The temperature reached 72.

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