The City Is Founded On Knowledge. Its Bricks Are Filled With Words, Its Walls Are Chapters, The Buildings

The city is founded on knowledge. Its bricks are filled with words, its walls are chapters, the buildings are books, the city is founded on knowledge. In the subterranean arteries there are graffiti lines, in the rafters of glassy towers there are etched-in hieroglyphs. The city, our city, the city of Holy Nisaba is founded on knowledge.

The millstone grinds for holy Nisaba, the water towers flow for holy Nisaba, the streets are swept for the coming of holy Nisaba’s pure footsteps. The hem of her linen robes collects no dirt, and the stars where they spin frame her face in a radiant crown. Holy Nisaba who marks the borders stands with tablet in hand, and her decrees are inviolable. They are carved stone to the workers, they are carved stone to the writers, her words are carved stone to the children who run in her fields. Her hand is on the architect, her hand is on the scribe, her hand is on the lawmaker, and the city is founded on knowledge.

The pencil writes for holy Nisaba, the pen flows smoothly for holy Nisaba, the compass and charcoal dance for holy Nisaba on snow-white reams. Paper mutters with delight in her presence, and keyboards clatter pleasantly for her. Computers awake with good cheer and swift grace for her, sharpeners whir eagerly for her, erasers scrub with fierce devotion to their task that they might please the Lady of the Written Word. Notebooks straighten their spines as soldiers at inspection and shelves set their footing to show their strength beneath the burden of her gifts. Bookworms and rot retreat from her approach, corruption shrinks from her glance, for the city is founded on knowledge and the holy written word is as steadfast as carved stone.

Holy Nisaba, your servant comes to the foot of your dais covered in the blue blood of a thousand pens, graphite smudged on her cheeks like a woman fresh from combat. Holy Nisaba, radiant mother, goddess of the burning field that gives way to green shoots, your servant comes to the foot of your dais on bended knee, bubbling with praises like cool spring water. Good woman, great wild cow who watches the barley fields, mother of the scribes who delights in mathematics, divine accountant and immortal poet, how can your servant not sing in adoration? The pen sings for you, the page sings for you. So too does your servant sing, ceaseless and exuberant, tearful and trembling with hands upraised. Holy Nisaba whose name is honey on the lips of her servants, who keeps the book of names and marks the actions of her servants, may you be well pleased in the piety of your scribes, may you be satisfied in their devotion, for the city is founded on knowledge and you sit enthroned at the peak of the mountain of metaphors, circled by sources, with library lions at your feet.

My lady, divine scribe of the Anuna, immaculate and triumphant in a kingdom built of binary code, the city is founded on knowledge and your words are immortal. For your power and your glory may your holy name be praised.

[I sort of utterly failed at writing a sonnet and barely clung to iambic pentameter, but here’s a present (@prideknights). I really love what you’re doing with your incredibly lovely blog.]

FAERY GOLD I sat in solace with my pen, and thought To pass a quiet morn. The sap was sweet Within the boughs, which hung full ripe with song. There put I my pen to page to con- -jure dreams from air, when out the wildwood sprang A maid in ribbons gay. She cried, “Quick now, Sir knight I do implore you in your court- -ly charm, to lift your cape a bit and lease The space beneath your arm!” Full lost I watched in faint surprise. My inks Were sorely upset by her hurried Laughing lunge, as in that misty glen She took asylum at my side. A voice from near the hawthorn grumbled low a curse, The shadows swirled with ire, as cheerful eyes Peeked out around my notes and unstrung lyre. But soon left us that pressure of a stare cloaked in the wood, and softly sighed that maid Beneath my folded hood. “What are you at?” I asked with care, and lowered startled quill To eye the giggling neighbor who then whis- -pered in my ear: “I am the rainbow’s child, And they wanted gold from me. Alas, I did attempt to give it fair, but Man tends to forget the worth of faery gold Is immaterial.” She winked. Full lost Again, I offered shade and flask to ward The summer’s heat, and listened to her hum With peace at this welcome reprieve. She looked upon me thoughtful, and with patience took My hand. “I have disturbed your work, good knight, Though you were kind to me, so I will give To you what that one cherished not, nor knew.” I shook my head, and bent it over, smile Beneath my helm. “My inks upset, my morn Half passed, but no regret is to be had If I have been of aid, good ma’am.” She laughed, delighted, full and bright, but Tugged my gauntlet grey, and pressed a kiss As full as harvest to my fingers there. “Then ride, sir. Accepted or not, my words Will linger here, and you may visit them again when you are full prepared, Fate-willed.” And so she left, with doe-light step, a-swirl In ribbons gay, to fade into the haw- -thorn grove and haunt my memory for years.

I sit in solace with my pen, and think To pass a quiet morn. The sap is sweet Within the boughs, which hang full ripe with song: “Know true you are enough, enough, enough, And you are loved, you are loved, you are loved.”

Many thank!!! I’m a wiggly genderfluid noodle that’s very feminine, not many people tell me that. ❤️

u r hand some.

You are not your gods’ friend.

Idk how European pagans and witches do things, but in the Mesopotamian tradition our gods are not our pals. We are their servants. We treat them with reverence and give more than we take. We don’t speak to them casually like I see some other pagans do.

Please. For the sake of your well-being and everyone else’s, if you include Sumerian/Babylonian deities in your practice, treat them with the proper respect.

I just woke up and I am absolutely touched to see that dozens of courageous and loving people joined @prideknights. Welcome, everyone, welcome. I am so glad we all got together to share a positive yet powerful message. I am very grateful that you are here.

The inbox is filled with positive messages from fellow Pride Knights. Yet there was one negative message and for some reason, a negative message is always much more impactful than a dozen positive messages. It makes you feel bad or it hurts. It takes ten seconds to read but it sticks in your mind like glue for the rest of the day, making you feel miserable. It might have been shallow hate or a nasty remark, either way, you may start doubting yourself.

Throughout my life, I have had countless experiences with negativity and I would dwell and dwell on it. But then one day it clicked, why do I spend valuable time and energy on this? Why do I let this ruin my day?

So the next time someone said something negative about me I would ask myself the following questions:

Does dwelling on this remark improve my life?

Do their words make me grow as an individual?

Is this worth spending my time on? Is it worth thinking about?

If the answer to these three questions is ‘no’ I asked myself these two questions:

What is it that I want out of life? It could be working towards a goal, towards happiness, or anything else.

And what small action can I do right now to make that happen?

Whatever the answer is. Go do that. Right away. Your health and peace of mind are valuable.

Timing is key. Ask yourself these questions right after someone says something hurtful.

It’s simple. Not easy, but simple. And with time, this skill is going to be one of your most important assets in life. Twenty years from now, you don’t want someone’s opinion of you ruining your day, or worse, maybe your entire life.

This is not to say we should avoid negativity altogether. We can’t. Take it as an opportunity to become more resilient and grow stronger. And maybe, just maybe, if you can, try to be grateful for it as well; taking something negative and turning it into something positive makes you grow as an individual.

Same goes for positivity; welcome it but don’t dwell on it. Appreciate compliments, but don’t let someone else’s words define you. What if they take those words back or you stop hearing them for a while? You start doubting yourself again.

You define yourself. Take the words from others as a guide, but only you have the power to decide what to do with them.

~ Roderick

ENKI IN ANCIENT LITERATURE: 

ENKI  is a god of Sumerian mythology and, later in time, known as Ea in Babylonian mythology. He was the deity of sweet water, crafts, creation, intelligence, the god of wisdom and of all magic, and was the patron god of the city of Eridu before his cult spread throughout Mesopotamia. He is the son of Nammu and father of Inanna and is the third of the trinity (Anu-Enlil-Enki) heading the Sumerian pantheon.

The main temple to Enki is called E-abzu, meaning “house of the subterranean waters”, a ziggurat temple near the ancient Persian Gulf coastline at Eridu. He was the keeper of the divine powers called me-s (Tablets of Destiny), gave the gifts of civilization, and was sometimes depicted as a man covered with the skin of a fish.

Read More 

Article by Ronny Lewandowski on AHE