How Inanna Became Eve

a heretical, yet pretty accurate, retelling

She found the tree by instinct or by a type of hearing unattached to sound. Something in the world was trembling, straining, aching and She was curious. That’s all, just curious.

When She arrived - slowly of course because Goddesses are not rushed - the tree was barely rooted into the sloping east bank of a river. Muddy water swirled and tumbled over raw roots and a thin, twisted trunk reached uphill. Balance. Or the lack of it, she thought. Shielding Her eyes from the relentless sun, She took in the sight of maybe the first truly suffering thing She had stumbled across. How unusual, She murmured. And then the Goddess picked Her way across the river, creeping closer and maybe a little more than curious now.

She could have sworn the tree breathed, jutting ribs nearly cracked open in hunger. A tree with a belly, she noted. A tree determined to survive. The Great Above lingered in its sparse crown, The Great Below clustered around a battered tailbone. Branches clung to the eastern bank, spindly root fingers looking for something to anchor into - even rock if that’s all there is, it seemed to plead- but the water tugged, searched, demanded an answer: why are you here?

Inanna tucked that overheard question into the crease between her thigh and hip, a place She often reached for without thinking. Why are you here, she hummed. Why are you here, the river sang back. Why are you here, the tree rasped in return.

She found the Huluppu when it was still so young, so pale, so abandoned. Imagine a child birthed and immediately left by an absent, ferocious mother - Her sister Ereshkigal if the stories were true. A bark made rough by assault, by loss, by in-betweens. She could feel Her own shadow gagging at the sight. So definitely Ereshkigal then.

Inanna found the tree when it was still liminal, still shimmering with heat waves, not much more than a mirage, and She took it home with her, the shadow in Her heart whispering a choked thank you.

Nestled into a garden meant for Her, only for Her, The Goddess dug through layers of soil, and decay, and tiny mycelial networks until there was room enough for the lonely Huluppu to stand. Not upright at first - or ever - but crooked and gnarled, the finger joints of a Crone creaking at the slow unfurling.