The Storytellers Goddess Part 23

"I have to go," said Persephone.

"You what?" said Her Mother.

"I have to go away from You."

"What are You saying? What can You mean? You can't go. Persephone, We have everything here. We have the world, the whole world. What do You mean? Why? Where would You go?"

"I have to go, Mother. Down. I have to go under the Earth. There are jewels there, Mommy. I have to go."

"Oh, my darling Child. You can't. You can't go. It isn't safe. Tell Me You won't go."

Persephone loosed Her hands from Her Mother's.

"Let's eat, Mommy," She said.

The next day, Demeter stood looking and looking for Her Daughter. When She finally came, Demeter grabbed Her and held Her.

"Don't go. Oh, don't go, Persephone." The two of Them rocked back and forth, holding each other in the sun.

Finally, Persephone pushed away. Tears were on both faces.

"I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll be back.

Good-bye." She threw a cloak over Her shoulders. As She ran, it billowed out behind Her like a sail.

Demeter stood frozen for an instant. Then She let out a cry, "NO!" and leapt after Her Daughter. She drew just near enough to see a huge rock rumble aside, Persephone disappear, and the rock move again over the opening.

Demeter flung Herself at the rock. It did not move. She moaned and steadied Herself. Then She eased Herself down and held Her head in Her hands. For a long time Her shoulders shook silently. Night came. She stayed.

Neither did She move the next day. She sat still and spoke to no one.

For a week She did not change her place. She did not eat. There were circles under Her eyes. A sore grew on Her mouth.

When She s.h.i.+fted Her posture the next week, it was only to pull Her robe more tightly about Her. For the wind, always before easy and warm, had grown strong and cold.

Demeter's hair knotted in the wind. The birds and animals who had not heard Her voice in so long went away. Demeter tipped Her head up to the sky.

"I wish only for a blanket to cover me," She cried out. And something white began to fall from the sky. It swirled and turned. Silently it began to cover the ground.

Demeter slept through the night and part of the next day. When She awoke the sky was gray, and all around Her and on Her feet and arms was the white blanket called snow.

No leaves could be seen. The trees scratched at the sky. No food could be found.

And still Demeter did not move.

Days and weeks went by. They turned into months.

Then one day, the sun was warm enough to begin to melt the blanket of snow. Demeter licked Her dry lips. Then She shrugged. With a great effort, She pushed Herself to Her feet. As soon as She did so, something came out of the ground where She had been sitting so long.

Why, it was a flower! A tiny white flower.

Then Demeter felt the ground beneath Her move. The rock on which She'd sat uprooted itself and uncovered a flight of stairs leading down into the Earth. Demeter made a sharp noise and braced Herself against the rock. She peered into the opening.

Up the stairway came a Girl trudging a little, as if She were tired, but with Her face turned upward. She was holding to Her waist the hem of Her robe, as if there were something b.u.mpy and heavy inside the skirt.

Demeter stood frozen. Then the sun glinted off the Girl's curls.

"Persephone!"

"Mommy!" sang out the Girl, and She leapt up the last steps and into Her Mother's arms.

When She did so, She let loose the front of Her robes, and a thousand emeralds, rubies and sapphires, amethysts and diamonds spilled out all over the ground. And at each place they touched, the snow melted and a host of flowers sprang up until all the ground around those dancing G.o.ddesses was green and sparkling and the birds and animals were kicking and swooping with joy.

Now every year, since that time, we have Spring only once a year. We also have Summer and Fall to honor the time Persephone is growing and getting ready to go to the center of the Earth. And we have Winter, to honor the time when Demeter's heart is breaking for missing Her Daughter.

Mayahuel (MY-uh-you-EL) Endlessly Milking One (Central America) Introduction Mother G.o.ddess Mayahuel of the Mexican agave plant is called Woman with Four Hundred b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The agave plant, known as the Tree of Life, is spiral shaped. Its central bulb is a kind of cave dripping with a milky elixir that is fermented to make pulque, the Mexican national beverage. It is drunk in order to nourish the crops, to celebrate the harvest, and to call for longevity in this world and the next. People use the milk of the G.o.ddess Plant for birth ceremonies involving the umbilical cord and baptism.

Mayahuel, Mother Pot of the World, is imaged as a frog with a mouth in every joint of Her body; as the Lady on the turquoise throne; and as Mother to a suckling fish. Her story, connected to those of other cultures around the world, dates far beyond recorded Central American history. Her name and Her role as G.o.ddess of pleasure, intoxication, and hallucination are both related to Maya of India, G.o.ddess of the stuff of life's illusion (see story). She was called Maia by the Greeks, Maga by the Irish, and Maj by the Scandinavians. Like the archaic Greek Artemis, Mayahuel has many b.r.e.a.s.t.s and suckles a fish, the powerful symbol of transformation borrowed by the Christians for their own Fish Son, Jesus. Her consort, Ehecatl (eh-HEH-cah-the), the Wind G.o.d, is related to both Quetzalcoatl and Tlaloc, whose images as the serpent and the rain suggest, not an opposition to Earth, but a blessed marriage of two forces, Earth and Sky, who need each other for the world to go on.

I regard the story of Mayahuel as a pre-Christian story of Mary and Christ, replete with the tremendously powerful archetypal themes of birth, separation, death, sacrifice, and rebirth. Indeed, in order to milk for myself an understanding of Mayahuel's story, I walked in a graveyard and told myself the Jesus story of my childhood. Reluctant at first to delve again into a saga in which Mary's part, for example, is so bridled and meek, I was arrested instead by the Bible story's characters, whose pa.s.sion, tenderness, and courage lie just beneath the veil of modern patriarchal religious convention.

The figure of a frog and a red stoneware pot in the shape of a woman both remind me of Mayahuel's endless capacity for transformation and sustenance. The fish sign of the Christians has new meaning for me as Mayahuel's Fish Son.

The Story that Never Ends Do you want to hear the story that never ends? Yes? Yes! Here is the story that never ends.

Out of the four hundred b.l.o.o.d.y mouths of the Frog G.o.ddess Mayahuel came all the creatures of the world. And then Mayahuel, Endlessly Bleeding One, took up Her jewel green Frog skin and made of it a band for the sand-white garment Her Woman form would wear. Into that dress She stepped, and into Her nose She fastened a plate of blue. Into Her hair the color of flames She bound the feathers of the eagle. Their soft points sprang out about Her face like the rays of the Sun.

Then into the waters at Her feet She looked and showed Her teeth with pleasure. She saw She was supple as a tongue and lovely as a dewy night under the full of the Moon. She called then, sweet and throaty, to Snake-the-Wind, singing and crooning, holding Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and whispering His name.

"Beautiful Ehecatl," sang the G.o.ddess Mayahuel.

"Blow to Me, bend to Me, My Treasure, My Wind."

Snake-the-Wind quickened when He heard the voice of His beloved. His nostrils opened and His lips parted. With lithe fingers, He clothed His Wind self in the skin of the Snake. His chest swelled. He bent and He blew.

"Ehecatl!" the voice of Mayahuel was thin with joy.

"Mayahuel, I come!" the voice of Snake-the-Wind was gigantic with hope. He slithered and surged. Mayahuel knelt and rocked. When Snake-the-Wind arrived, He slipped Himself between Her elbows and Her waist and wrapped Himself about Her swaying back. The eyes of Mayahuel and Snake-the-Wind sang to each other a thousand hymns. The tips of the tongues of Mayahuel and Her Wind Snake touched. Ehecatl bit the shoulder of His G.o.ddess, and Mayahuel took His long and lovely length into Her arms.

Out of the union of Mayahuel and Ehecatl was born a Son in the shape of a Fish. To birth this Son, Mayahuel breathed and moaned, and Ehecatl rubbed sweet oil into Her belly and then caught the child that plunged gleaming from Her center. Mayahuel rested then against Ehecatl, who stroked Her hair.

Then, to suckle Her water Child, She grew four hundred Woman b.r.e.a.s.t.s where the four hundred mouths of Her Frog self had been. Now the Endlessly Bleeding One was the Endlessly Milking One, and the Fish Son's skin grew fat and orange with health.

Surely this Son had come to magnify life's abundance, for no matter the cares of His thousand questions or His busy interruptions to Their love, the Child brought to Mayahuel and Ehecatl a joy that deepened as He grew.

It came to pa.s.s that this well-beloved Son of the Endlessly Milking One and Snake-the-Wind took the form of a Boy. How the Mother and Father cherished this Child with His snapping eyes and soft mouth that told Them stories! For the Fish Boy Son had begun to travel, staying in the homes of the creatures of the world, listening to them and taking His impressions as a creature Himself. And so the innocence of His infant hood peeled away, leaving in its place a wisdom colored with energy and tinged with sadness.

One evening when the shadows were long, Mayahuel caught a look on the Fish Son's face that filled Her with a kind of dread. She saw that His was the face of a Boy no longer. His was the face of a Man now, at the same time restless and peaceful with purpose.

Mayahuel hovered at the edge of the dark. She felt swollen with feeling.

"It is the creatures," said Her Son, in answer to Her query.