A Conversation with Dzari, the Earth Mother of Kaean People

The Sherpa: Dzari, it is an honor to sit with you today, to hear your voice and your story. You have lived across generations and landscapes, shaping rivers, guiding tides, teaching women the sacred act of giving life. Yours is a myth that echoes deeply across the world, even outside your own people. But I want to start with something very simple: When you think of your origin, born from the snake mother in the deep earth, how do you remember that moment? What was it like to come into being?

Dzari: Ah, Sherpa, you take me back to a time that is difficult to describe in words. It was a place of darkness, yet full of potential. Imagine being wrapped in the coils of something ancient, something that both constricts and protects you. I was not born as other children are. I emerged from my mother’s scales, her cool skin against mine. It was peaceful at first, but beneath that peace, there was always a current—a force. That is what I remember most, the feeling of a quiet, restless power stirring within me even as I was nurtured in the earth.

The Sherpa: Power… It seems to be woven through your entire life, doesn’t it? Not just the ability to create, to shape life, but also to destroy. There are moments where your story takes a dark turn, where you take revenge on those you love. Tell me, Dzari, do you believe creation and destruction are inseparable? That to give life, one must also take it away?

Dzari: Yes. There is no division, not in my world. Creation and destruction are simply two sides of the same force. When I gave birth to my child, there was joy, but when my husband killed my mother, there was loss that demanded to be answered. To destroy my child as he had destroyed my mother was a natural cycle. It is not something I see as evil, Sherpa. It is the balance. In the world I come from, where the tides rise and fall, where the moon disappears and returns, everything must complete a circle.

The Sherpa: So you are saying there is a justice to it, a natural law that you, and others like you, follow? But for those who live in this human world, Dzari, the loss of a child is perhaps the most unbearable thing. Do you ever wonder, looking back, if there could have been another way? Or was it impossible for you to let go of the need for revenge?

Dzari: Humans… you live in time. You see the world through the narrow lens of hours, days, and years. I see it in eternities. For me, there was no “other way.” What happened was inevitable, like the turning of the sea or the wind changing direction. But, if I speak in human terms, do I regret? No. That would be to question the flow of everything that I am. Yet, I see that you seek something else in my story. You want me to speak of mercy, forgiveness. These are human desires, Sherpa, not mine.

The Sherpa: I think that’s what’s so hard for us to grasp—your lack of regret, your acceptance of inevitability. When you say it, it’s not cold, but it’s also not something we can easily embrace. We cling to ideas of choice, of the possibility of changing things. It’s almost frightening, the way you describe it—like a tide pulling everything along, unstoppable. But let’s talk about your journey after that moment of revenge. You didn’t stay in that dark place. You traveled east, teaching, creating. How did that transformation happen, moving from destruction back into creation?

Dzari: The journey eastward was always waiting for me. I did not stay in revenge, not because I chose to leave it, but because it was not my final purpose. You must understand, Sherpa, I was always meant to be a creator. I am the giver of life, the one who shapes the land and the people. But creation comes in cycles. After destruction, there is always a rebirth, a new beginning. The death of my child was an ending, but it was also a space cleared for something new to grow. So, I moved eastward, not out of grief, but out of necessity. There were things still unfinished. Women needed to know how to bring life into this world without suffering. Rivers needed to find their way to the sea.

The Sherpa: It’s interesting, isn’t it? That you moved from a deeply personal experience—revenge, the death of your child—into this broader role of nurturing life for others. In a way, it’s as if your personal story is just one thread in a much larger tapestry. And yet, I wonder… When you taught women how to give birth without cutting themselves open, were you healing something in yourself? Was there something about the act of creation that restored you after what you had done?

Dzari: Healing, Sherpa? No. I do not need healing. That is the way of humans, to think that wounds must be mended, that loss must be reconciled. What I gave to the women was not for me. It was for them, for the future. You see, my body carries the knowledge of birth, of creation. I taught them so that they would not fear the act of giving life, so they could bring their children into the world whole. What I did was not about restoring myself—it was about ensuring the continuation of life. That is my duty. I move the rivers, I bring the tides, because life must continue. It is the rhythm of the world, and I am its keeper.

The Sherpa: So there’s no personal element to it at all? You are simply a vessel, moving with the rhythm of creation? I find it hard to believe that, Dzari. Surely, there’s a part of you that feels something when you see life spring from your teachings, when you watch women bring their children into the world without death looming over them. Doesn’t that touch something within you?

Dzari: You ask me to feel as a human does. You want me to say that I felt joy, that I wept with them, but that is not who I am. I am more than emotion. But I will say this: there is satisfaction in knowing that the world continues as it should, that life is not interrupted by unnecessary suffering. When I watched the women give birth, when I saw the rivers flow freely, there was a sense of completeness. Not joy as you know it, but a sense that the balance was restored.

The Sherpa: Balance seems to be at the heart of everything for you. And yet, Dzari, there’s this moment in your story that feels almost like an imbalance—a moment when you step into the human world in a way that you don’t elsewhere. You meet Kamadong, and you give him fire, food, even male genitals. This feels deeply personal, intimate. What was it about Kamadong that drew you to him? Why did you give him so much of yourself?

Dzari: Kamadong was not special in the way you might think. He was a man, like many others, but he represented something I needed to complete. The giving of fire, food, and genitals was not an act of love or intimacy—it was an act of necessity. Kamadong was incomplete when I found him. He needed to become fully human, and so I gave him what he lacked. But do not mistake this for affection. It was simply part of the order I maintain. Humans needed fire to survive, they needed food to sustain themselves, and Kamadong needed his body to be whole. I was the one to give these things because it was my role to do so.

The Sherpa: Yet there’s a vulnerability in that. Kamadong’s incompleteness, his need for you to make him whole—it mirrors something, doesn’t it? Even you, the Earth Mother, needed the snake to birth you. Creation seems to require vulnerability, a moment of weakness before strength can emerge. Do you see yourself in Kamadong’s story, in his journey toward wholeness?

Dzari: I see what you’re trying to do, Sherpa. You’re trying to draw a connection between Kamadong’s journey and mine, but we are not the same. Kamadong was incomplete because he was a man born into a world that had yet to be fully formed. I was born whole, from a mother who was already complete. The only thing that binds us is the cycle of creation, the fact that we are all part of the same world. But vulnerability… that is a human concept. It is not something I carry within me. I was never weak, never incomplete. I am the force that makes things whole, not the one who needs to be made whole.

The Sherpa: You push back against the idea of vulnerability, but I wonder—what about when you left? When you departed after your work was done, after you gave Kamadong what he needed and left the women with the knowledge of birth, did you ever feel… alone? You moved from place to place, never settling. What did it feel like to always be moving, never staying in one place, never resting?

Dzari: Alone? No, Sherpa. I do not feel loneliness. I am part of everything that is. The rivers, the tides, the wind—they are my companions. My work is never finished, and so I move. It is not a burden. It is simply the way of things. To stay in one place would be to stagnate, to disrupt the flow of creation. I have no need for rest, no need for stillness. I am the force that moves the world, and so I must keep moving.

The Sherpa: And yet, Dzari, there must be some longing within you. You move from place to place, giving so much, but you never stay. Do you ever wish to stay, to see the fruits of what you have planted, to watch the people and the land you shaped grow and thrive? Or is there something in you that always knows you must leave?

Dzari: I do not wish to stay, Sherpa, because my work is not in the watching—it is in the doing. Once the seeds are planted, once the rivers are flowing, there is nothing more for me to do. To stay would be to interfere, to disrupt the balance. I must trust that what I have given will continue without me. That is the way of things. I am the force that begins the cycle, but I do not need to see its completion.

The Sherpa: That’s a hard lesson for many of us, I think—learning to let go, to trust that what we’ve set in motion will carry on without us. But it also feels a bit… lonely, to be honest. You are a force, yes, but you’re also an individual, a being with a story. Doesn’t part of you ever wonder what it would be like to stay, to see the world you’ve created unfold before you?

Dzari: I understand why you ask these questions, Sherpa. You are human, and humans are tied to their need for connection, for permanence. But I am not like you. My existence is not defined by the need to witness, to stay, to form attachments. I am part of the cycle, but I am also apart from it. To stay would be to limit myself, to become something small and fixed. I cannot do that. I must continue moving, continue creating. That is my purpose, and that is enough.

The Sherpa: It’s almost as if you’re saying that to be truly free, to be truly yourself, you must always be in motion, always creating. It’s a concept that’s foreign to us, but in a way, I think we all strive for that freedom, that ability to let go of everything that holds us back. But I have to ask—where does it end, Dzari? Do you ever see a moment when your work will be done, when you can rest?

Dzari: There is no end, Sherpa. The world is always changing, always in need of creation, of balance. I will continue to move, continue to create, until the cycle is complete. But the cycle never truly ends, does it? As long as there is life, as long as there is death, there will be work to do. There is no final rest for me, no end to my journey. That is the nature of who I am.

The Sherpa: And you’re at peace with that? With the idea that your work is never finished, that you will always be moving, always creating?

Dzari: Peace… yes. I am at peace because I understand my place in the world. I know what I am, what I am meant to do. There is no need for rest when you are in harmony with your purpose. I do not need to stop, to settle. I am fulfilled by the movement, by the act of creation itself.

The Sherpa: It’s a powerful way to live, Dzari—this constant motion, this refusal to be tied down. But I think there’s something for all of us to learn from your story. Maybe it’s not about seeking rest or finality, but about embracing the journey, the constant flow of life. Thank you for sharing your story, for helping us understand this deeper rhythm of creation and destruction, of balance and motion.

Dzari: It is my nature, Sherpa, to share what is needed. But remember, my story is not meant to be understood in full. It is part of the world’s flow, just as you are. We are all part of the cycle, even if we do not see it clearly.