The true Orpheotelest is a master bricoleur. Over the last couple days I have adapted material from the Zend Avesta, the Coffin Texts, the Qumran sectarians, some Tamil Śaivite hymns and this, which is based on an Anglo-Saxon prayer to the Cross (itself strongly indebted to a Wodēnic original.) I’ve also been playing around with meter, rhyme, repetition, and some rhetorical tricks with impressive Greek and Latin names which I’m not going to bother listing. If you’ve got a major in Classics, a minor in Lit Crit and a job as a barista I’m sure you spotted them. And damned if it’s not working! The ancients sure knew some shit. (Especially Onomakritos.) I just improved on the originals by making them Bacchic Orphic. All kidding aside, it’s like I’m having a dialogue with all of these great ancient artists, a dance, a choral collaboration with a host of honored deceased in praise of the Lord of Song. Io evoe! Io io Dionysos Dithyrambos! And I think it’s making me a better poet. Because you can’t just steal willy-nilly and stitch the random bits together like Victor Frankenstein on an ether binge. I mean, ok, technically you could, and that does sound pretty fucking cool actually (Note to self…) but the point is, that’s not what I’m doing on these occasions. I’m putting a lot of thought into how everything fits together, why, and what every word and line and symbol is doing in a given text, etc. A lot of the time I’ve gone over it so much, tweaking here and there again and again, rewriting lines or whole quatrains or more, inserting Bakchica that performs the same function as the replaced historiola, or riffing in a totally different direction so that only an echo, a hint of the original remains. But I wouldn’t have gotten there without those who came before, without cannibalizing the dead, which has opened a door in my writing that did not exist before. It’s magic. It’s amazing. Lolo Bromios!

Fruitful Branch of Bacchus be with me.
Fruitful Branch of Bacchus is what I ever adore.
Fruitful Branch of Bacchus is true health.
Fruitful Branch of Bacchus is frenzy, ecstasy,
inspiration, and the chanting of sacred verse.
Fruitful Branch of Bacchus is deliverance,
loosening of bonds, and the shattering of chains.
May the Fruitful Branch of Bacchus banish all evil.
Fruitful Branch of Bacchus be ever over me,
and before me, and behind me,
because the ancient enemy flees
whenever he sees you.
Flee from me, a servant of triumphant Liber Pater,
O vengeful demon, by the sign of the Fruitful Branch.
Behold the Branch of the Dominus Fufluns Pachie.
Begone, you enemies of Aventius
and his Fruitful Branch! Begone!
Dionysos Zagreus
deals death and gives life,
casts his foes down into the Pit,
and ransomed from Haides
the souls of his blesséd.
He is the God who makes mad,
and who frees,
and by his Fruitful Branch,
he has conquered thee.

O Phaldōr, foe of diviners, who sows
confusion, false interpretations, and
holy words misheard; why are you
harassing us here at the mat?
Has it slipped your mind what happened,
son of Eikelos, sender of nightmares,
and Eris, disrupter of divine order,
when you challenged Dionysos,
the deliverer of oracles, before?
Have you so easily forgotten the torments
he inflicted upon you, and the oath he got
from you never again to interfere with his prophets,
mantic priests, madwomen, and Orpheotelests
just to get the pain to stop?
Shall I remind you?

Angry that mankind should be given guidance
through the hardships of life, and knowledge
of future events you traveled through Thrake
and Makedonia scattering the knucklebones,
chasing the madwomen from their underground sanctuaries,
and snuffing out the everburning fire on his altar,
until you met the God on the road to the temple
where his giant mantic snake dwelt.

Before you had a chance to insult the son of Zeus
who rules from on high and his fiery wife Thyōnē,
Dionysos hailed you mockingly, and said:

Behold, it is Phaldōr, the confounder of man,
who has a head but no reason,
who has eyes but no sight,
who has a tongue but only speaks gibberish,
who has hands but no deeds,
who has a heart but no strength,
who has legs but cannot walk.

Then he took from his belt a pouch
in which were kept 24 stones,
each marked with a letter from α to ω.
He drew the stones from the pouch
one by one, and cast them at your feet
asking the spirits that resided in each
to assist him. And this is what he said:

The Seven became Four,
and the Four became Twenty-Four,
in which all things
that can be spoken of
are contained.

The Seven are the Charaktēres
which constitute the Superlative Name
of the first-born God, αεηιουω.
They also represent the Pleiades,
the Seven Stars who crown
the Heavenly Bull, and once
were the Seven Sisters
who nursed my infant self,
and when I reached manhood
bore me Four mighty sons.

The Four are called Guardians,
great allies of the Kingdom of Nysa,
and the Hymnōdai chant their names
for enlightenment and protection.

ZBCHXKS is in the East,
has the face of a dragon,
is surrounded by white,
rules over the waters,
and cures all ailments
pertaining to the torso.

LOGTĒPS is in the South,
has the face of a spider,
is surrounded by red,
rules over the air,
and cures all ailments
pertaining to the arms.

REPHNAI is in the North,
has the face of a Wolf,
is surrounded by black,
rules over the earth,
and cures all ailments
pertaining to the legs.

PŌDTHYM is in the West,
has the face of a bull,
is surrounded by gold,
rules over fire,
and cures all ailments
pertaining to the head.

Each of the Four
have Six Warriors
of which the Chorus
of Twenty-Four Powers
is made.

As he spoke their name each of the
Guardians and their Warriors materialized,
armed with maces, swords and axes,
eager for a fight. They took turns
playing with you, Phaldōr, until each had
had a turn. Then Dionysos the Merciful
offered you a way to end your torment,
the oath that you are now breaking.

Depart, Phaldōr, and do not disturb
these sacred proceedings,
or you will face the Guardians
and their Warriors, the Twenty-Four
who have surrounded you
while I made this utterance.

Did you know that each of the seven last words that Christ spoke on the cross became a magical formula, overseen by its own Power or Angel? My favorite is Τετέλεσται, meaning “It is completed/consummated/accomplished.” The Word’s root is important within the Bacchic Orphic mysteries:

When the soul comes to the point of death, it suffers something like those who participate in the great initiations (teletai). Therefore the word teleutan closely resembles the word teleisthai just as the act of dying resembles the act of being initiated. At first there are wanderings and toilsome running about in circles and journeys through the dark over uncertain roads and cul de sacs; then, just before the end, there are all kinds of terrors, with shivering, trembling, sweating, and utter amazement. After this, a strange and wonderful light meets the wanderer; he is admitted into clean and verdant meadows, where he discerns gentle voices, and choric dances, and the majesty of holy sounds and sacred visions. Here the now fully initiated is free, and walks at liberty like a crowned and dedicated victim, joining in the revelry. (Plutarch, De Anima fragment preserved in Stobaios Florigelium 120)

Do you know the Angel of this Word, and his Power?

Veistu, hvé rísta skal?
Veistu, hvé ráða skal?
Veistu, hvé fáa skal?
Veistu, hvé freista skal?
Veistu, hvé biðja skal?
Veistu, hvé blóta skal?
Veistu, hvé senda skal?
Veistu, hvé sóa skal?

Know how to rist?
Know how to read?
Know how to paint?
Know how to pry?
Know how to ask?
Know how to offer?
Know how to send?
Know how to sacrifice?

I’ve got one other thing to add: ΑΣΚΙ ΚΑΤΑΣΚΙ ΛΙΞ ΤΕΤΡΑΞ ΔΑΜΝΑΜΕΝΕΥΣ ΑΙΣΙΟΝ.

Funny addendum: while I’ve always been of the opinion that the famous voces magicae “hocus pocus” either came from the Eucharistic phrase “Hoc est enim corpus meum” (this is my body) or the doggerel Latin “hax pax max Deus adimax” today I read that in Sharon Turner’s The History of the Anglo-Saxons it is claimed to derive from Ochus Bochus, a Norse magician or galdrmaster who became a demon in death called upon for aid by other magicians. I also read that it was a Russian corruption of the name Bacchus, but I have a hunch that’s not true.

I do, however, believe in the power of: ΑΡΒΑΘ ΑΡΒΑΩΘ ΒΑΚΧΑΒΡΗ.

Do you know what it means and what it does?

Why, that’s the damnedest thing. WordPress provides statistics on where your visitors come from, how many of them there are, and the number of pages they visit, among other details. Most days I get between 14 and 88 hits from Australia, but on 05/16/2026 and 05/17/2026 there was a precipitous rise. I’ve had 560 hits over the last 7 days from Oz alone. Weirdly the spikes occur on those two days, and only those days.

So, dear readers, do you think our unimaginative troll “Bonjour Jon Bon Jovi” is a) Markos Gage, b) his even worse POS ex Wanyiepoo Masse Masse Massse, c) one of Markos’ brainwashed teen-aged “acolytes” eager to defend his master d) some other deranged Aussie trying to work out his grief because a marsupial ate his baby or some shit by harassing random folk online, or is it possibly e) the spikes are pure coincidence, and our kookaburra is from somewhere else. Hey, as a religious specialist for mumble mumble years I’ve come to believe that coincidences are rarer than Echidna’s kind, but I suppose it’s always possible.

Who wants to put money on his ability to avoid mentioning farts and toes? Yeah, I wouldn’t take that bet either. But this should be entertaining.

I’ve just got one thing to say: אבד כדברא.

For a discussion on the different ways to evaluate ancient Greek and other literatures, check out this older piece of mine.

I hate when people, especially in the Hellenic communities, treat Homer as ancient fanfic. While his poems weren’t necessarily the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew Scriptures, they were highly revered, philosophers discovered incredible depth and symbolism in the text via exegesis and eisegesis, religious specialists used them in spells or for divination, etc. And the New York Times just reported on another purpose — assisting the deceased in their journey through the Underworld.

Archaeologists Find Egyptian Mummy Buried With the ‘Iliad’
For the deceased of Roman-era Egypt, Greek literature may have offered a cheat code to a more comfortable afterlife.

O gentle yet powerful Dionysos,
hear me when turmoil rises within and around me.

Protect me from Lyssa,
spirit of raging frenzy, blind fury, and destructive madness.
Let not wrath consume reason,
nor violence overcome compassion.

Cool the burning mind with sacred calm.
Steady the trembling heart.
Where chaos howls, let wisdom answer.
Where hatred grows, let mercy take root.

By the vine that brings fellowship,
by the dance that restores weary souls,
by the holy cup shared in peace,
drive away savage anger and ruinous impulse.

Grant me mastery over my own spirit:
patience in provocation,
clarity in confusion,
and restraint when passion surges like fire.

May my home be guarded from cruelty and discord.
May my tongue speak healing rather than harm.
May my hands bring comfort rather than destruction.

O Liberator and healer of wounded minds,
lead me from frenzy into balance,
from fear into courage,
from bitterness into joyful life.
May peace prevail where madness sought to reign.

O life-giving, sanity-restoring Dionysos,
keeper of sacred frenzy and divine truth,
hear my voice beneath the veil of night.

Guard my soul against Mōkios of Amphipolis,
spirit of twisting delusion,
corrupter of clear thought,
maker of false paths and poisoned desires.

Let deception be uncovered like mist before dawn.
Let what is crooked be made straight.
Let no corrupt whisper take root in the mind,
nor any shadow rule the heart through confusion or shame.

By the ivy-wreathed thyrsos, drive out falsehood.
By the drum and sacred cry, scatter unclean influences.
By the cup of liberation, restore clarity, dignity, and right-mindedness.

Grant me discernment to know truth from illusion,
wisdom to reject what degrades the soul,
and strength to walk in reverence, balance, and joy.

May my dwelling be guarded by holy fire.
May my thoughts be crowned with peace.
May all harmful spirits depart
to the silent and forgotten places.

O Nocturnal Reveler, He who rushes through the woods,
lead me away from corruption and spiritual blindness.
Fill me instead with honest joy, sound judgment, and sacred freedom.
Evoe, blessed Dionysos of many names and mighty powers.
may truth endure, and may every dark delusion be undone.

O load-roaring Dionysos,
breaker of chains and revealer of truth,
guard my mind from Mōkios of Amphipolis,
spirit of delusion, mockery, and barren pride.

Let not false wisdom harden the heart,
nor empty scorn blind the soul
to ecstasy, compassion, mystery, and sacred joy.

Drive away the voice that sneers at reverence,
that calls the living Gods lifeless,
that turns celebration into shame
and wonder into dust.

Instead, grant me clear sight and measured spirit:
to honor what is holy without arrogance,
to seek truth without fanaticism,
and to welcome divine joy without madness.

May your ivy crown shield my thoughts.
May your wine loosen the knots of fear and contempt.
May your dance awaken the soul
from coldness, despair, and spiritual emptiness.

O Liberator, friend of the outcast and ecstatic choir,
lead me away from delusion
and toward living wisdom.
Evoe, blessed Dionysos.
May reverence, clarity, and holy joy endure.

By ivy green and blazing flame,
I speak the holy Liberator’s name.
Away, Nekydaimones of grief and dread,
wandering spirits of the restless dead.

I bar the threshold, seal the gate,
no shadow here may linger or wait.
By wine poured pure upon the ground,
let living joy and light abound.

Thyrsos-bearing Dionysos, stand near;
let no unquiet shade come here.
Let every harmful phantom flee
to earth, to silence, to the sea.

Ash to ash and day to night,
I cast you out by sacred light.
No haunting whisper, curse, nor cry
shall cross this home while stars fill the sky.

Evoe! Evoe! The rite is sealed.
By vine and fire, let all be healed.

O blessed bull-horned Dionysos,
Master of Spirits, Averter of Misfortune,
hear me in this hour.

Drive far from me the Nekydaimones,
the restless dead who wander without peace,
the whispering shadows that cling to sorrow,
fear, madness, and decay.

By your thyrsos crowned with pine,
by the roaring dance of your holy companions,
by the wine that restores life to the weary soul,
cast out all baneful spirits and unclean phantoms.

Let the doors of my dwelling be sealed in sacred joy.
Let laughter, music, fire, and fellowship
be stronger than every haunting gloom.

May the kindly Ancestors be honored and at rest,
while all hostile shades are driven away
to the silent places beneath the Earth.

O son of the dragon Zeus and infernal Persephonē,
surround me with your midnight light,
so that nothing impure may draw near.
Grant me courage in the night,
clarity in the mind,
and peace in the soul.

Evoe, Lord of the Labyrinth Dionysos;
let no wicked spirit prevail where your vine has taken root.

Whenever possible I like to have the text in the original language, and then three or four translations open for comparison. Sometimes there are only minute differences, though those differences can strongly impact how we read, understand and are emotionally influenced by the text.

There’s also times when the translation is so completely different that you’re left scratching your head wondering how in Haides that happened.

For instance, I needed to do some quick divination for a friend, so I turned to the Homeromanteion and after my questions on the who, what and why were answered, moved on to the action that should be taken. I got:

ἄνδρ’ ἀπαμύνασθαι, ὅτε τις πρότερος χαλεπήνῃ.
To protect you if someone is violent.
Homer, Iliad 24.369

Although I had a general sense of what to do from that, I thought a little context could be helpful and so googled the verse. One of the first pages that came up gave this as the translation:

ἄνδρ’ ἀπαμύνασθαι, ὅτε τις πρότερος χαλεπήνῃ.
Be wary of a man who gets angry before anything happens.
Homer, Iliad 24.369

And that, kiddies, is why you never rely on just one translation!

The context is Hermes counseling Priam as he guides the broken old king to the tent of Achilles, to beseech the great warrior for the return of his son’s body, upon which terrible vengeance has been inflicted for the death of Patroklos. Taken up to the conclusion of Achilles and Priam’s conversation it is one of the most powerful and shocking pericopes in all of Greek literature.

Edited to add: apparently it can also be translated, “A man is warded off if he becomes excessively embittered/violent.” Unsurprisingly I like that one the best.

And someone just sent me confirmation that Markos is whining on social media to drum up the troops and send them my way. He’s also complaining because WordPress won’t do anything since posts like this don’t violate their ToS. He’s even gonna get himself one of those fancy Australian lawyers with the funny wigs to try and intimidate me into silence. I’m not one of your teenaged victims Markos. Your pathetic bullying tactics ain’t gonna work on me. And for the record I’ve never had a problem with Cara Schulz. In fact she recognized some of the problems in the community before I did, and I only regret I didn’t heed her warnings sooner. Especially because they were about people like you, Markos, which I refused to believe because I liked you. I don’t like you anymore.