Dreams of Dumuzi have been pushing me into the new year. The sorts of dreams that are full, buzzing with strange images and scenes that are difficult to remember, in part because they all seem to be the foreword wave ahead of something bigger. The dreams are all over the place, but behind them is a name and heavy presence: Dumuzi.
Like much of theoretical speculation here, there is a practical case that motivates my thinking about the mythical depths of the seemingly historical Bible. The Bible provides me with many of the tropes through which I have worked out some of the more intimate dimensions of my spiritual court. I am sure some of that is growing up Catholic, but several elements have little to do with the Biblical world of my Catholic childhood. Like Absalom, the rebellious son of David, like Tamar.
This one is longer than usual.
(Which isn’t to say that these stories are strictly Christian or Jewish. They fall into a globally-distributed pattern of myths.)
The night before I finished off yesterday’s post, I had a dream. The fog was thick and heavy, my partner and I were stopping by the gas station before swinging back by the mall to pick up my mother. I recognize a woman in the gas station (she is a librarian in life, but in the dream she was making a little extra as a janitor). While we are talking, she points to a rack of barely sketched in stuffed Halloween animals and says, “I do not like the way they treat the stuffed animals.”