The City of Lagash — 2149 BC

Gudea, governor of the city of Lagash, was dreaming. He knew he was in a dream because the walls of his palace were moving oddly, and he shifted from room to room without walking. People he knew — priests and courtiers and minor nobles — appeared, spoke nonsense, and turned into other people. Yes, this was definitely a dream.

Not everyone knew how to realize when they were in a dream, but Gudea had learned the trick of it from the priests who’d been his tutors, back when he’d been only a boy. Before he’d come into his inheritance and accepted the Shepherd’s Crown; governorship of the city and land of Lagash. Like any leader who went between Gods and men, he had to know when he was in a dream, so he might be alert and ready for any signs the Gods might choose to send him. He had always had a talent for dream-awareness, and his eyes and ears were alert for signs now.

In his dream, Gudea stood outside the palace of Lagash, in a stone quarry where many men were laboring hard under the hot sun. Their master was whipping them; but they worked slowly, sending up wails of complaint.

Now another man stood next to the slave-master. The other man was wise and serene, wearing the pure white robes of a priest. The wise man stopped the slave-master’s hand, took the whip, and undid its leather straps. In his hand he held a soft piece of sheep’s-wool; he attached this to the whip’s handle, and handed the whip back to the slave-master.

The slave-master began to call out happy words to the workers; praising their workmanship and reminding them of the great house they were building. Instead of whipping them, he tickled them with the wool, making them laugh; and in their joy they worked much harder than before, singing triumphant songs to the heavens.

Now Gudea stood alone with the wise man in white. Sometimes the man seemed like an ordinary priest; other times like a wise-eyed serpent. At last Gudea recognized him: this was none other than Ningishzida, his personal God!

“My Lord!” Gudea cried out, prostrating himself on his knees. “I did not recognize you! I beg you to forgive my impiety.”

“There is nothing to forgive, old friend,” Ningishzida said softly, helping Gudea to his feet. “You need not be so formal with me. Have we not known each other well, these many years?”

“We have, Lord,” said Gudea, smiling. How wise and kind the God’s eyes were! Gudea wanted to tell his God everything; to unburden himself of all his sins.

“I bring you a message,” Ningishzida said. “From a higher God; one of those who dwell beyond the gates of the heavens.”

“A message,” Gudea repeated. “Which of the Gods finds me worthy of a message?”

“None other than Far-Seeing Ningirsu,” Ningishzida said. “The Winged Lion, son of Enlil, the South Wind, wielder of the enchanted mace called Sharur the Smasher-of-Thousands; Farmer and Healer, Destroyer of Demons, ancient protector of the city and lands of Lagash.”

The list of epithets sent trembles through Gudea’s body, even deep within this strange dream. “I beg you, old friend,” he said to wise-eyed Ningishzida, “tell me what message the God Ningirsu sends to me.”

The white-robed God smiled. “Ask him yourself.”

Gudea found himself standing before a vast throne. On the throne sat a being radiant with light, filling the room with a blinding golden glow. Terrified, Gudea prostrated himself before the throne, pressing his forehead seven times against the carpeted floor.

“Arise, Gudea,” rumbled a voice like a lion’s roar, “my faithful servant.”

Scrambling to his feet, Gudea still had to avert his eyes, the radiance of the God was so overwhelming. Gudea recognized this radiance as the melammu— the splendor worn by all the high Gods, which made them impossible to look upon. Without the intercession of a personal God like friendly old Ningishzida, the slightest brush with a high God’s melammu would instantly incinerate any mortal, body and soul; even here within a dream.

With the help of Ningishzida’s intercession on his behalf, Gudea was able to kneel in the presence of the God Ningirsu, though he was unable to look directly at the melammu even now. Its radiance filled him with primeval terror; and at the same time, with an overpowering love and comfort; as if the God saw through him clearly as water, and understood and accepted all his sins and secrets, and loved him all the more for them.

A pair of lions, one male and one female, sat at the left and right of Ningirsu’s throne, which was formed of purest gold, and adorned with rubies, emeralds, carnelian, lapis lazuli and many other precious stones. The radiant God held in His hand a mace, its handle as long as Gudea was tall; its head that of an eagle, cast in bronze, looking about and snapping at the air like a living bird.

“Father Ningirsu,” Gudea stammered, “Mighty Lion, Roaring South Wind, I am unworthy to kiss the dust beneath Your feet.”

“I have a task for you, Gudea,” the God spoke like thunder. “A great undertaking for the city of Lagash.”

“I am a tool in Your hand, Lord Ningirsu,” Gudea said. “I await your command.”

“Ningishzida,” the radiant God spoke to Gudea’s personal God, who appeared white-robed at his side. “Establish the connection.”

Wise-eyed Ningishzida took Gudea’s right hand, smiling. A pair of serpents emerged from the friendly God’s shoulders. In his left hand he now held a bowl, overflowing with water, the clear stream pouring onto the floor, forming a pool around their feet. The pool grew as large as a lake, and too deep for Gudea to see the bottom through its dark fathoms; though he and Ningishzida remained standing atop the water, hand-in-hand.

Gudea recognized this deep water: it was the Abzu, the great freshwater sea from which all life and creativity arose. Home of the great God Enki, Lord of the Abyss.

“My Lord Enki,” spoke the radiant God Ningirsu from His golden throne. “Wise in all the arts, teacher of language and of tricks; crafter of tools and cities; keeper of the mne, the attributes of civilization; I ask you to teach this man Gudea how to build my house.”

Gudea’s mind was reeling. He had been introduced not only to the high God Ningirsu, one of the most ancient and magnificent of all deities — but now Ningirsu Himself was calling on Enki, one of the eternal primordial Gods; one of the Seven Gods who Decree; one of those who dwell in the Ocean of Being itself, who brought the world forth from chaos — one of the Gods who had not spoken with mere humans since the most ancient days before the Flood, those faraway years when Earth talked with Heaven.

And here he was, Gudea of Lagash, just a man, receiving a vision directly from Enki; from the Abzu, the Ocean of Being itself. Even in the dream, Gudea’s whole body hummed with excitement and terror.

He looked down into the Abzu, and it was as if his mind was as vast as all the world. He saw his city of Lagash, not as a man standing in the city, but as if he were able to see every part of it — the inside and outside walls of every house and temple; every stone of every street; the watery depths of every well and the green-leafed top of every palm-tree; every man and woman and child; every barrel of grain and rack of meat; every disease; every lovemaking; every birth and murder and celebration and sacrifice and prayer — at the same time, all at once, as part of the same single whole.

A deep voice hummed from the depths of the Abzu, soft and comforting, wise beyond words.

Behold your city of Lagash, the voice thrummed in Gudea’s bones. Every word seemed to carry the meaning of a thousand words; infinite chains of meaning that ran forever into the abyss.

Long ago, the voice hummed within Gudea, I showed men how to build this city for Ningirsu.

Gudea could find no words to respond. He filled his heart with affirmation, knowing the God would understand.

“The land of Shumér lies in ruins!” the God Ningirsu thundered from His golden throne. “Men are wicked, and no longer talk with Heaven. The ancient cities have reverted to barbarism, squabbling like villages under petty chieftains who desecrate the sacred places. Petty lords fight without end, and the common people live lawlessly, starving in destitute poverty. Barbarians ravage the land, raping and stealing like wild apes.”

“Shumér whores herself!” squawked Sharur, the God’s eagle-headed mace. “She prostitutes herself before these beasts! They must be crushed!”

Indeed, all things come to pass, Enki’s voice hummed in Gudea’s bones.

This simple statement seemed to carry a thousand other meanings that slipped through Gudea’s mind before he could grasp them. It was as if all this was beneath the ancient God Enki’s notice somehow; too small and petty to merit the serious attention of the Lord of the Abzu. As if even the radiant God Ningirsu was petitioning Enki, begging for help like a child upon his father’s knee.

“You alone, Gudea, have remained a faithful servant,” thundered splendorous Ningirsu. “You will build me a new house in Lagash, and preserve Shumér in her purity.”

As you say, Enki’s voice hummed. A house.

Then Gudea saw the house; was within it; was observing every part of it simultaneously: a great temple, towering to the sun; at its top, a sanctuary, a holy-of-holies where the God Ningirsu would make His dwelling-place on earth. But when the God spoke of a “house,” Gudea now realized, he meant not only a temple but a whole city; a new Lagash, purified and cleansed, organized and efficient, clean and well-constructed and proper in every way — not only in the stones of its streets and walls and houses, but in the laws of its courts; the rituals and ceremonies to be observed; the dress and conduct of its citizens; the distribution of its grain and beer and sheep. All this was to be the new house of the God Ningirsu, Lord of Lagash.

“I — ” Gudea pleaded. “O Ningirsu, I do not understand all this!”

Do not try to understand, Enki’s voice hummed comfortingly. Only see.

To be continued in the book...