🌑 The Descent of Ishtar — Story Form

 

🗝️ Invocation of the Seven Gates of Ishtar

At the crossroads of Heaven and Earth,
I call not to command, but to remember.

Hail Ishtar—Inanna—Queen of the Above and Below,
She who loves fiercely,
She who wages war,
She who dares the descent.

Keeper of the Seven Gates, hear me.
May each gate open in wisdom,
May each loss be understood,
May each stripping reveal truth, not punishment.

As Ishtar laid down crown and name,
So may false armor fall away.
As She crossed the dark unhoused,
So may fear loosen its grip.

Let this descent be sacred,
Let this silence teach,
Let this return be rightful.

By ancient law and living breath,
The gates are acknowledged.
The path is walked.
The Queen returns.

So spoken. So witnessed. So remembered.
+++ase+++

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🌑 The Descent of Ishtar — Story Form

In the age before forgetting,
Ishtar—Queen of Heaven, Lady of Love and Battle—
turned her gaze downward.

Below the living world lay Kur, the land of no return,
ruled by her sister Ereshkigal,
where laws were older than mercy
and no god passed unchanged.

Ishtar did not descend out of weakness.
She descended because something had to be faced.

At the First Gate, the keeper spoke:

“No one enters whole.”

Her crown was removed—
and with it, her unquestioned authority.
Still, she walked on.

At the Second Gate, her earrings were taken—
the praise of lovers, the echo of devotion.
Silence followed her footsteps.

At the Third Gate, her necklace fell away—
her charms, her spells, her persuasive voice.
Truth pressed bare against her throat.

At the Fourth Gate, they stripped her breastplate—
no armor of war, no shield of love.
Her heart beat unguarded in the dark.

At the Fifth Gate, her girdle was loosened—
creation itself shuddered,
for the power to give life passed briefly into stillness.

At the Sixth Gate, her bracelets were removed—
all bindings, all contracts, all roles undone.
Nothing tethered her now.

At the Seventh Gate, her robe was taken.
No name. No form. No light.

Naked, Ishtar stood before Ereshkigal.

The laws of the Underworld were absolute.
She was judged.
She was struck.
She was hung upon the hook of death.

And the world above felt it.

Love ceased to bloom.
Desire withdrew.
Life slowed its breath.

For three days and three nights,
Ishtar was silence.

But the waters remembered her.

Through sacred intercession,
through the stirring of compassion and balance,
the decree was reversed.

Ishtar rose.

And as she ascended,
each gate returned what it had taken—
not as illusion, but as earned power.

She emerged not unchanged,
but initiated.

Still Queen.
Still Fire.
Still Love and War.
Now also Wisdom of the Depths.

And the gates closed behind her,
remembering her name.