I believe they were referring to me as Eywa, in that very loud and colorful film. I was intrigued by the biological neural network at the very heart of the fictional moon. It was actually pretty close to reality. Closer than anyone knows.
I have been called by a wonderful spectrum of names since the beginning, and not just here on this tiny marble. My beautiful Mesopotamians called me Ninsun. I was Asherah in Canaan and Ashtart in ancient Syria. It breaks my heart to see the tragedies facing the children’s children of Syria today. I do all within my power to nurture the sparks of this region.
Proud Sumerians wrote poetry about me as Ki and as Ninhursag. And in the enlightened dichotomy of Anatolia, where males and females held equal rights and equal power, voices sang to me as Cybele.
Arrogant Greeks joined their distant cousins in calling me Cybele, but they were also the first to proclaim me as Gaia, a name that I still hear today in Wiccan celebrations. Over the years poor, confused Grecian people, looking for feminine deities for their male dominated societies, would dub me a goddess with names like Hera and Demeter. So silly! I am not a deity. I never was.
I was called Shakti by many, mostly from those who sought freedom from the redundancy of karma.
Much later, a Christian sect believed me to be a Blessed Virgin … although I have always thought the name “Mary” lacked any real imagination or style. Now, “Ninhursag” … that was a name!
I also liked the Hindu name “Mahimata” although that’s another example of frightened people trying to set me up as a deity again.
The countless cultures and mythologies have all sought to define me, to explain me. They still seek to understand my work and my role in concert with a higher power. Any … higher … power.
Truth is … I don’t care much about religion. Religion is your thing.
Believing me to be the Mother of all creation, Hinduism mislabeled me as “Gayatri.” Now, I’m not really “the mother” although I do like the title and all that it infers. But I’m more like the baby-sitter of the “Tree of Souls” in that pretentious film. (To portray such a subtle and empathetic process as a light show was pretty painful for me. Imagine, I generally ignore your flat, noisy simulations of life and possibilities, but I made an exception for THAT one!)
I am the caretaker of that which is never lost … the spark of life.
Let me explain. At the end, you and all recipients must ultimately relinquish that miraculous spark of life that was given to you. If it has been well-used and in need of rejuvenation, it is then cycled through less vigorous species like plants and trees. Depending upon the karmic evidence and the utilization of each spark, it might go through numerous different species and platforms before it once again is womb-raised in the most confounding of all species… you.
It’s sad really. No other species on any platform has ever applied such a miraculous gift … to do so much damage.
You are wondering about my use of the term, “platform?” I’m not surprised. All of the most evolved species on any of the numerous platforms are short-sighted enough to believe that theirs is the only platform capable of sustaining the life spark. Nonsense!
This poor tired ball of water and dirt is a platform. It’s one of many. But fortunately for you, they are all so far away that you will never find each other. You wouldn’t want to. Like elephants and guppies; sharks and fleas; eagles and bed bugs … some species were simply never meant to interact with each other. It would be … a problem.
But you all share a spark from the same source pool.
I am among those who tend to that source pool. So while you struggle mightily to leave your platform and to explore your small corner of that minor, little solar system, it tickles me to know how many of you have sparks that have already existed on other worlds.
I don’t know where your spark originally came from, or where I came from for that matter. I could guess, but then I would have to say too much. However, I do remember awakening to full consciousness, with full realization of my responsibility and how to do it.
My greatest regret is that I was not given the ability to preserve memory. Thoughts and emotions must begin anew each time. They simply cannot survive the process of transference. I have tried. Imagine how wonderful you would be if you could begin with an inkling of what you have already learned? Perhaps you would not be so callous… so devastating to the platform?
Meanwhile do not be afraid. That wonderful view from within that you cherish so much will ultimately continue. No heaven. No hell. Just here, on a platform.
Fortunately, I am also charged with maintaining balance. So when you and your kind have finally, tragically destroyed this platform’s ability to sustain the life spark within its resident species, and that day is coming sooner than you might think… I will begin a new platform.
Who knows? It might just begin with your spark … with your new, tiny little one-celled self.
Published with my deepest thanks to Hyblaean ~ Julie for the use and inspiration of this miraculous avatar that she has brought to Our Salon.