The Goddess came into the world and she was human. A human amongst humans, no different, no more. She was like a child that needs love. She wanted to be what the people were, she wanted to go where the people went. She loved every person, she extended herself towards everyone and she wanted to give what she had to offer. She was human and she was divine, filled with beauty. She longed to share what she had with those who were good and fair.
She crossed paths with a family that inhabited a wooden house and lived off the land. The parents had placed their child in front of the house, wrapped in blankets, while they were working in the field. The child saw the stranger and began to cry, so that his father hastened towards them. The father did not recognise Eleima and asked her why she was here. He was angry that his child was crying because it kept him from his work.
What is it that bothers you? asked Eleima. Do the sounds of your child make you fearful or do his tears make you sorrowful? Do you seek your child’s wellbeing or do you wish it to behave as if it were not a child? Are you this child’s guardian or his teacher? Do you wish to be a teacher without learning anything yourself? And what is your work? Are you working for a greater good or are you whiling away your days redoing what you have already done? And what do you really know? Do you wish to be someone who is everyone’s equal or are you different from your child? Does the child comfort you when you are sorrowful, does he feed you, does he shelter you from winter?
She took the baby in her arms and looked at him. The child felt that it was being admitted into a power that was great and good. The crying stopped but the father was restless. He once again turned to Eleima and his voice was once more filled with reproach.
He said: My family has come from far. I was born on this mountain and my parents have passed away long ago. Their bodies lay buried here, their hearts are forever entrenched in this land. If I do not till the land, my child will die. If my child dies, I dishonour my parents’ suffering. I myself shall die and everything they have done will have been for naught. My wife shall stand by my deathbed, but not for long. If she is still young and pretty, others will come after me. They will subjugate her to their power, they will use her if they can, and I will not be able to help her. If my wife has already lost her beauty, those who come will not trouble themselves with her. Perhaps she shall die quickly but perhaps her suffering will be infinite. Who am I to say her fate does not concern me? Who am I to renounce my family? If I take them in my arms no longer, if I shield them from the threats of this world no longer, then what is my use? And if I have no use, what are they to do with me? My wife would leave me. My son would kill me if he could and he would have every right to do so.
There were tears in the eyes of Eleima. She knew these thoughts and that no good would come of them. If a man is the soldier of his family, he is the enemy of all. The protection he has to offer is violent and cannot forgive. It is the enemy to happiness.
The man said: I remember my mother’s lessons and I learned my father’s songs, but what has become of them? The fathers, the mothers, the brothers and sisters, all have disappeared. My enemies seek my downfall continually. What will I have to offer against their avarice? I am alone in the world with a child and a wife. If I do not protect them, how will they survive? Humans are weak creatures, and the Gods have interwoven every fibre of their being with sorrow. And who are you, woman, to put me in my place?
The man’s words struck Eleima like the thrusts of a dagger. With each word the man betrayed the beauty of the world. The worst of the people resounded in every word; his fears and worries, his desire for violence, and his lowly call on a greater good. She read his thoughts like wheat on a field; the fertile earth delivered nothing but the darkest grains. And Eleima flew into a great rage. She shrouded herself in a white cloud and a great light, rose high above the man and his dark desires and allowed her voice to thunder.
Eleima spoke: You toil every day without understanding, no better than the dumbest animal. What do you expect to receive? You believe wife and child to be possessions, what should they believe you to be? You want to enslave the earth and you do not acknowledge her. You set out in the morning full of thoughts on how the earth must be for you. You chop down the trees, you murder the plants, you drive off the animals around you. You break open the earth and you dump your seeds in it, your plants fill themselves with the power of the earth, but how do you replenish it? You want to deny her everything, you give nothing whole-heartedly, there is no understanding, you want to take from the earth until she dies and you do not forgive her her exhaustion from fulfilling your desires. In the afternoon you fight your brothers over the smallest piece of land that has anything left to give, greedy as you are. You give death and expect life in return. You hunt the animals that inhabit the land with you, you poison the land with the blood and the carcasses of your fellow men and you trick your wife and children into doing the same. You conspire with evil to build cities for you to rule. You justify your actions by the wickedness of people, but you refuse to see your own actions. And when exhausted you fall into bed at night, it is to your surprise that there is no peace. But I tell you: see what has been given to you and do not close your eyes. Tell the Gods what they need to know and only then may your family know prosperity.
Then she saw the child and was caught unawares by a great compassion. The mute child was asleep in her arms, hidden from the father’s language. Eleima knew that the roots of evil run rampant even in the smallest child, but she wished that this child would not forget her. And she took the child and held it high up into the air, and she said to the father: for her sake I shall not sever the bond between you and the Unity. You shall be in your child, overflowing with thoughts of yourself, king of a kingdom the borders of which will never become visible; but if silence reigns in the kingdom of the father, your child shall be able to hear me and speak with me, and I shall not disown it.