Bridegroom, dear to my heart,
Goodly is your beauty, honeysweet,
Lion, dear to my heart,
Goodly is your beauty, honeysweet,
You have captivated me, let me stand tremblingly before you,
Bridegroom, I would be taken by you to the bedchamber,
You have captivated me, let me stand tremblingly before you,
Lion, I would be taken by you to the bedchamber.
Bridegroom, let me caress you,
My precious caress is more savory than honey,
In the bedchamber, honey filled,
Let us enjoy your goodly beauty,
Lion, let me caress you,
My precious caress is more savory than honey.
Bridegroom, you have taken your pleasure of me,
Tell my mother, she will give you delicacies,
My father, he will give you gifts.
Your spirit, I know where to cheer your spirit,
Bridegroom, sleep in our house until dawn,
Your heart, I know where to gladden your heart,
Lion, sleep in our house until dawn.
You, because you love me,
Give me pray of your caresses,
My lord god, my lord protector,
My Shu-Sin who gladdens Enlil’s heart,
Give me pray of your caresses.
Your place goodly as honey, pray lay (your) hand on it,
Bring (your) hand over it like a gishban-garment,
Cup (your) hand over it like a gishban-sikin garment.
This is the song of the holy bride of the king Su-Shin, who ruled Sumer in about 2000 BCE. This is how she greeted her husband to be, as a priestess and votary of Innanna the goddess. It is an expression of the Innanna-Dumezil story, and it is that ancient story that is the heritage of magical sex in my culture.
The images of honey are important in themselves, as honey is often a way of describing nectar, amrita, or manna - that golden, spirit-lit substance that develops at the floor of our skulls and vouchsafes the wonderful flow of union we experience in meditation, devotion - or sexual ecstasy.
We, however, are here to do our own imagining.
Sex magic is as old as the city. The Goddess is not a power of nature, but of artifice, a made power, an exotic and barely known thing. She is Innanna, Ishtar, Astarte, of Sumer or Egypt, or Babylon, or Babalon when she is Thelemic.
So imagine a city, on the crossroads of civilizations, sophisticated and barbaric. Imagine the marketplace, you know the one, with the well and the belching camels and the dusty tangle of all humanity. There are spices from the east, bronze and iron from the cold north, and exquisite fabrics bound for the sea. Herbs and meat are stewing and beer is brewing.
At the door of the big cool temple, among the fat pillars and on the shallow steps, sit women in their finery. They are there to be sold, for the night, as preparation for marriage. This is compulsory.
Some are up for it. They call out to the passing men, flirting and dancing. Others are more reserved. Maybe they are older, not attractive by the conventions of the time, or damaged in some way. Some women are there for a long time. It's not fair, this system. It is brave, at best, but I never said it was fair.
You are there too. You are wearing a white robe, just a bit transparent, with red embroidery. Two gold bracelet adorn your brown plump arms, and you have red sandals. It is the best your parents could afford. You are nervous as hell, and it seems you have been there all morning.
Then you catch his eye as he strolls past. He is old, over thirty probably, lean and scarred as if he has seen battle. His white teeth gleam as he grins at you. There is a look of pure wicked joy in his eyes, and it is wicked, but it is also pure, and you get up and follow him.
The two of you pass the tower. It is slim and made of something unearthly, and it seems to pierce the heavens. It is not an ordinary tower. Nothing ordinary happens there. Today, in the high heavens, the king and queen are fucking. Today they are Dumezil and Innanna, and they are making the sun turn and the crops grow.
This is your heritage.
Blessings on you, gentle reader.
REFERENCE:
https://www.penn.museum/sites/expedition/the-biblical-song-of-songs-and-the-sumerian-love-songs
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