Countdown to the Noumenia: come to this place.

I summon to this sacrifice
the God who dances through the woods,
who wears the skin of ferocious beasts
and delights in the bloody feast.
Maddened, rapturous, holy in the extreme,
you with bull’s horns on your head,
bearing snakes and tossing your long hair about
with the frenzy of a thunderous storm.
Lord of every tree,
with a face lovelier than the first flower of spring,
raving in the night when decent folk are behind doors,
leader of the mad throng down from the mountain
and through the shadowed streets.
Decked with ivy and clusters of bountiful grapes,
he who takes pleasure in the phallos
and the screams of intoxicated maidens
tearing the fawn to pieces
and dancing about,
proudly bearing their trophies of the hunt.
Come to this place,
hallowed in your name,
and bless us with your many gifts
God of Nysa’s heights
and the hidden places of our hearts.