Nylu. 11x17 ink on bristol
The Sleeping Goddess
As a child my mother always told me the story of The Sleeping Goddess & The Dream Eater. In days such as these I can only dwell on those stories.
Deep in the dreams of all things was a single glimmer. A beacon of light shining through an absolute abyss where our minds wander as our eyes close. This light, at first, was but a speck of dust. A single star in a blank night's sky. At first it all seemed faint, but hope lies in the darkest of valleys. There was a softness to the light. A calm tone rung out through the space of the mind, as if a beacon was calling you toward this glimmer.
As a dreamer your mind naturally gravitates toward hope. The comfort of light, the shining sparkle of anything that isn’t void. In the beginning stages of sleep you are but a feather being carried across a breeze. The sleeping mind wanders slowly to the light. Upon reaching this hope, with childlike wander, you would enter her realm. The realm of blissful dreaming. The Alabaster Sea. This place of pure light was the antithesis of the night sky. A pure white sky speckled by black stars, each their own realm scattered across the canvas.
My mother always said these black stars were reminders of the despair that accompanies light. That you should be grateful for its scattered dots. Not all consuming, but spread across a beautiful white. She would repeatedly tell me that there is inherent suffering in hope. I can still hear her voice say it to me.
Upon entering The Alabaster Fields in the sleeping hours the dreamer would be presented by a test. I was told it was to truly measure your levels of faith. Not that you would be denied entry to the blank skies should you be wavering, but because “some of us need more help than others”. The most potent of dreams happened here. At times it would be blissful. A welcome dream for the weary mind. For those with more of themselves to face; a trial awaited. Many of our demons are fought with our heads upon pillows.
Should your faith be weak you may repeatedly find yourself “plagued” by these vivid conjurings. Night upon night spent in a cycle of fighting trial after trial with eyes closed. Through obstacle you will find whether your faith stands on sand or solid foundation. But if you were of good faith and conviction, if you built your house on stone and stood the trials of The Alabaster Sea, then may you see her.
The Goddess of Hope and Dreaming. Nylu.
Her abode is that which also resembles her. Purity in its most sincere manner. Her head is that of a white sunflower with a halo of golden rays following behind her. The petals of her hair flowed in a way no sunflower petals would, more of an abstraction of her godliness. They were pristine, as well as the pale leaves that accompanied them, often as a cloak or scarf.
My mother said the white sunflower was a symbol of purity, peace, and rebirth. In nature these pale petals did not live long on the flowers as they would begin to choose their own colors. The white petals are a transitional phase for a sunflower. The Goddess Nylu never changed the colors of her petals. They remained a consistent white, an eternal reminder that peace was always available despite the circumstances. That rebirth is an offer extended to even the most doubtful of souls. The attainability of peace in the petals of white is a testament to hope. It is all she encompasses.
Nylu is of stout elegance. She carries strength in her legs but kindness in her walk. My mother always described her as scarred. Carrying the memories of battles fought and overcome. As a child I never understood why a being of such beauty and grace would be so tainted by the scarring of flesh. Why a goddess of all beings would parade such humanly things with pride. Was it not beneath her?
My mother always said “what more to hope is there than the scars of battle? To come out the victor to treachery. Is it not a spectacle to see a wounded animal recover? Or the dying neighbor be healed of illness? To see the heartbroken man mended of the tearing of his heart? The scars we all bare are the symbols of hope. They are the reminders of what we have endured to stand here and tell you these stories. For if there were no scars to show tomorrow then we would be buried among the dead.“ My mother was always quite the poet.
The scars of Nylu were a braille of trials and tribulations overcome. They were the most human thing of her.
Nylu spoke in a soft intonation, one you must truly listen to to hear. The grace of her tone and wisdom of her words showed a softness one would not expect to receive from a being far beyond their own existence. She did not spare a word that did not carry truth with it. Even if vague. She was not one for riddles, but often did find it important that what you interpret of her words is what you are meant to pursue. Hope may seem blind at times, but it is unwavering.
Hope is worth fighting for, and aside from the stories of battle in her scars Nylu held a great spear with her. It was long and near the head split into a near trident. A beautiful gem nested itself as a centerpiece to the spear she carried and wrapped around it was a flowing red sash. A crimson banner that flowed as her white petals did.
The Spear of Nylu was her one and only armament that she carried with her. No shield, no armor, nothing to defend from an onslaught. She bore the brunt of violence and has the wounds to show it, however any soul unfortunate enough to find themselves at the tip of her spear knew that she was no stranger to violence in retort.
Hope is a violent thing. It can break your heart. It can break your soul. It can tear you apart. But it can also mend you. Bring you joy. Lift your head and show you a better tomorrow. These are all of the things Nylu stood for. The Sleeping Goddess. The Goddess of Hope.
My mother loved to tell me stories of Nylu. Of her gentleness, of her strength, of beautiful dreams. But one cannot speak of Nylu without also speaking of her counterpart and the eternal dance of violence and struggle that they circle.