Beauty and the Goddess

The thing about Gods, see, is that they tend to make you focus on things you’d rather not. Wherever they find resistance is where they dive in, guns blazing.

When Inanna called to me I was like “eh, yeah, why not?” I admire her story and the poetry of Enheduanna is powerful stuff. As Goddesses go she’s pretty groovy without a whole lot of baggage. Besides, love and beauty are in her domain, and since Aphrodite/Venus are out of bounds (I’m a devotee of Hephaistos), she sounded like she would round out my spiritual family.

First lesson, never become a devotee of a God or Goddess casually. Ever.

Inanna has decided recently to work on me. She wants me to be prettier, sexier, girlier. As a granola-ish tomboy who sees nothing wrong with spending the day in a cardigan, flannel pj pants and striped socks, this is rubbing me the wrong way. Especially because she nags.

It’s kind of like my sister is a Goddess and every time I get ready to leave the house she whispers disdainfully “You’re not going to wear THAT, are you?” She wants me to wear makeup, keep my nails freshly polished and spend time on my hair in the morning: all things my nature rebels against.

It’s good for me, though. I know this. My body is my temple and I should tend it as carefully as my altar. My outside should be as vibrant and colorful as my soul. As a Pagan, I owe it to my community to present a polished, professional and responsible face to the world. “That Wiccan woman always looks so classy!”

So I am trying to embrace this. It’s hard. It’s not at all easy. Today I’m to run some errands with my sister and I fixed my makeup and hair. I pulled something stylish out of my closet, ignoring the ragged gypsy skirt and hippie tank top calling my name. I’m about to put on some perfume and polish my nails.

The Queen of Heaven wants me to look regal. My hippie heart is trying to rise to the occasion, but oh, it stings. It really does.