Search Results for: wolfsangel


Okay, this is getting ridiculous. 

I was googling something in anticipation of having the post where I praise immigrant and queer heroes used as proof that I’m a crypto-Nazi because the meander is a Nazi symbol, just like the triskelion, wolfsangel, sonnenrad, labrys and other symbols of the Starry traditions.

Specifically I googled:

ursa major nazi

And sure enough, I was directed to a Wikipedia article that says:

According to the Russian archaeologist Gennady Zdanovich, who studied some of the oldest examples of the symbol in Sintashta culture, the swastika symbolizes the universe, representing the spinning constellations of the celestial north pole centred in α Ursae Minoris, specifically the Little and Big Dipper (or Chariots), or Ursa Minor and Ursa Major. Likewise, according to René Guénon the swastika is drawn by visualising the Big Dipper/Great Bear in the four phases of revolution around the pole star.


Speaking of fire

One of the most important documents we have within Bacchic Orphism are a series of bone tablets inscribed with enigmatic phrases and symbols.

SEG 28.659:
Life. Death. Life. Truth. Zagreus. Dionysos. Orphikoi.

SEG 28.660:
Peace. War. Truth. Lie. Dionysos

SEG 28.661:
Dionysos. Truth. Body. Soul.

These were likely produced by an Olbian Orpheotelest and mantis who worked out of the temple of Hermes and Aphrodite by the name of Pharnabazos, known primarily because of a magical duel he had with Aristotles, a rival diviner of Hermes (and formerly of Athene) whose territory was probably near the temple of Demeter. Uniquely the defixiones both men employed against their opponent have come to light

Well, there’s another text that was made by thiasitai Boreikoi (or members of the Society of Apollo Boreas) which I mentioned here. Rather than being written on bone it’s a circular inscription engraved on the outer and inner edges of a black lacquer vase stand.

Scholars have proposed two different readings of the text, SEG 58:772:

Bios Bios, Apollon Apollon, Helios Helios, Kosmos Kosmos, Phos Phos.


Apollon Helios, Helios Kosmos, Kosmos Phos, Phos Bios, Bios Apollon.

For those not familiar the terms mean:

Apollon = “God of wolves, prophecy, fire, disease and healing”
Bios = “Life”
Helios = “Sun”
Kosmos = “Universe” or “Order”
Phos = “Light”

Both readings have deep significance. The first seems to be describing a progressive sequence of concepts or experiences, while in the second they weave in and out of each other as in a dance. I like the second better for reflection, and the first for chanting. I’m undecided whether the Greek or English is more effective.

So far I’ve just been using it as a cleansing mantra, but I suspect it may end up becoming as potent a tool as the Oration of Aristides – if I can unlock its true meaning, that is.

Oh, and one of the symbols found on a couple of the bone tablets is a Z-like shape. Various suggestions for what the symbol signifies have been put forth: snake, lightning bolt, a representation of the flow of energy or a meandering journey through the Labyrinth. I tend to accept all of these and also associate it with a pruning-knife or wolfsangel

The pruning-hook is a wolf

Speaking of pruning-hooks, George Wicker Elderkin puts forth a theory in chapter XXIX (pgs 167-169) of his masterful Kantharos: Studies in Dionysiac and Kindred Cults which I’m not sure I buy, though it certainly has interesting implications:

The primitive λυκος was a sickle or hook-fetish. In the theriomorphic stage of the cult the sickle-fetish was superseded by the wolf which because of its slashing habits with its sabre or sickle-tooth was eminently qualified to act as the animal embodiment of the god. The transformation of the god into a wolf would explain the rite in which the devotee was transformed into a wolf. It was a primitive imitation of deity.


They may have carried the ‘sickle’ cult west. This sickle-cult seems to have been also a wolf-cult and to force the conclusion that the theriomorphic phase of the sickle-cult was the wolf-cult. In this connection should be noted the cult of Soranus Pater on Mt. Soracte. This cult was in the care of a family named Hirpini who called themselves the Hirpi Sorani (Roscher, Lexikon s. v. Soranus), ‘the wolves of Soranus.’ Servius says that Soranus was a name for Dis Pater. In other words Soranus combines the chthonic aspect with the mountain abode of Kronos. This coincidence raises the question whether the Hirpi Sorani were not in origin “Sickles of Saturn” for hirpus looks very much like a masculine to ἄρπη ‘sickle.’ A hint of the original significance of lupus as ‘hook, pruning-hook’ lies perhaps in its appearance as a surname of the gens Rutilia. The Rutili were the ancient people of Latium whose king Turnus was killed by Aeneas. Latium was anciently called Saturnia terra and was therefore the land of the sickle-god Saturn. Hence the name Lupus would be especially appropriate to an ancient family of Saturnia terra if Lupus retained its primary meaning of ‘hook or sickle.’

The study of the word λυκος carries with it a study of the name Λυκοῦργος. The Thracian Lykourgos appears in epic as a rival of Dionysos whom he drove into the sea. Their struggle is to be explained probably as that of two rival fertility-heroes. The madness of Lykourgos and his confinement in chains are Saturnian features of a hero or god blinded by Zeus. Lykourgos appears in vase-painting with the double-axe in indication perhaps of his rivalry with Zeus (Roscher, Lexikon s. v. Lykourgos, p. 2195).


That Lykourgos originally meant ‘sickle-maker’ is confirmed by the name of a son, Ankaios, already discussed, a name which is derived from a word meaning ‘hook.’ Thus the primitive Arcadian king Lykourgos ‘Sickle-maker’ had a son ‘Hook’ or ‘Pruning-hook’! If Wilamowitz (Hom. Untersuch. p. 267) is right in associating the Spartan Lykourgos with the Arcadian Zeus Lykaios, then Lykourgos was Θεσμοφόρος for the same reason that Demeter was. Both were vegetation-deities. Θεσμοφόρος was also an Orphic appellative of Dionysos. That Lykos, like other fertility-gods, acquired solar characteristics is clear from the fact that Boeotian tradition knew of two brothers Lykos and Nykteus (Apollod. III, 10, 1). Lykos and Mithras both sickle-gods became solar like Kirke.

One of which being that it would help explain how the pruning-hook over time transformed into the Wolfsangel or wolftrap. 


It is the knife whose cut restores. 


Nonnos, Dionysiaka 6. 155 ff
Zagreus the horned baby, who by himself climbed upon the heavenly throne of Zeus and brandished lightning in his little hand, and newly born, lifted and carried thunderbolts in his tender fingers for Zeus meant him to be king of the universe. But he did not hold the throne of Zeus for long. By the fierce resentment of implacable Hera, the Titanes cunningly smeared their round faces with disguising chalk (titanos), and while he contemplated his changeling countenance reflected in a mirror they destroyed him with an infernal knife. There where his limbs had been cut piecemeal by the Titan steel, the end of his life was the beginning of a new life as Dionysos. He appeared in another shape, and changed into many forms: now young like crafty Kronides shaking the aegis-cape, now as ancient Kronos heavy-kneed, pouring rain. Sometimes he was a curiously formed baby, sometimes like a mad youth with the flower of the first down marking his rounded chin with black. Again, a mimic lion he uttered a horrible roar in furious rage from a wild snarling throat, as he lifted a neck shadowed by a thick mane, marking his body on both sides with the self-striking whip of a tail which flickered about over his hairy back. Next, he left the shape of a lion’s looks and let out a ringing neigh, now like an unbroken horse that lifts his neck on high to shake out the imperious tooth of the bit, and rubbing, whitened his cheek with hoary foam. Sometimes he poured out a whistling hiss from his mouth, a curling horned serpent covered with scales, darting out his tongue from his gaping throat, and leaping upon the grim head of some Titan encircled his neck in snaky spiral coils. Then he left the shape of the restless crawler and became a tiger with gay stripes on his body; or again like a bull emitting a counterfeit roar from his mouth he butted the Titanes with sharp horn. So he fought for his life, until Hera with jealous throat bellowed harshly through the air–that heavy-resentful step-mother! And the gates of Olympos rattled in echo to her jealous throat from high heaven. Then the bold bull collapsed: the murderers each eager for his turn with the knife chopt piecemeal the bull-shaped Dionysos.

your sharp knife


Óðinn as the Archangel Michael reminds me. 

Do you know the face Dionysos wore when he wandered among the Slavs?

No, not Xors or Jarilo. I’m talking later, post-conversion.

Specifically Saint Tryphon the Pruner. This handsome fellow:


If you’re not familiar, here’s some resources you may want to sift through.

I’ve got something in the works, but it’s going to take me a while to stitch all the pieces together.

But I will point out that the serpette or pruning-hook is a very important Dionysian symbol and weapon:

The wines of the neighbourhood of Vevey, especially on the sunny district extending hence to Lausanne, and called La Vaux, enjoy a considerable reputation. The Romans are believed to have first planted the vine on these hills and the discovery of a stone inscribed Libero Patri Colliensi proves that they had erected a temple to Father Bacchus at Collium, a little village now called Cully, on the margin of the lake between Vevey and Lausanne.

A society or guild of very high antiquity called L’Abbaye des Vignerons having for its motto the words Ora et labora exists at Vevey. Its object is to promote the cultivation of the vine and for this purpose it despatches every spring and autumn “experts”, qualified persons, to survey all the vineyards of the district and upon their report and testimony it rewards the most skilful and industrious vinedressers with medals and pruning hooks (serpes d’ honneur) as prizes.

In accordance with a custom handed down from very ancient times, which is possibly a relic of pagan superstition, this society periodically celebrates a festival called la Fête des Vignerons. It commences with the ceremony of crowning the most successful cultivator of the vine, which is followed and accompanied by dances and processions formed of the lads and lasses of the neighbourhood attired as Fauns bearing the thyrsus and nymphs. Father Bacchus in his car and Ceres throned on a waggon filled with wheat sheaves appear in the most classical costume in the midst of their followers. But the procession includes a singular mixture of scriptural characters along with these heathen Bacchanals. Thus Silenus riding on his ass is followed by Noah in his ark and Pomona is succeeded by the spies from Canaan bearing between them the bunch of grapes. A vine press and a forge at work are also exhibited drawn by fine horses. On other days of the fête (for it lasts for several) the spectators are entertained with the native dances and songs of Switzerland performed by the herdsmen and shepherdesses of the neighbouring Alps and the concluding and perhaps the most interesting part of the festivities consists in the bestowing upon a young maiden, the fairest in fame and form in the vicinity, a dower and in the celebration of her marriage with a partner of her choice. (John Murray, The handbook for travellers in Switzerland and the Alps of Savoy and Piedmont) 1865

It was often the subject of poets. 

Consider Clément Marot’s Song of the Vineyard Knife:

Enough of love; let’s leave for something new
All that to-do, and sing the vineyard knife;
No grower of vines but has recourse to you,
Makes use of you to prune his vines; O knife,
My vineyard knife, my little vineyard knife,
Renewing life, you make my good vines grow,
From which year after year the rich wines flow!

Vulcan, the high gods’ blacksmith, did design
This shape divine, in heaven hammered out
The white-hot steel, and dipped it in old wine
To give the fine edge temper; and the shout
Bacchus gave out proclaimed beyond a doubt
That even devout old Noah could not find
A knife for pruning vines more to his mind.

With vine leaves crowned, young Bacchus brings his slim
Curved blade to trim and bless the fruitful vine;
With flagons old Silenus follows him
And from each rim, in one unbroken line,
Pours down the wine, tries dancing, lies supine;
And for a sign his nose is cherry-red;
Of his great family many men are bred.

Or Épitre by Pierre de Ronsard:

Being a poet, I love Bacchus more than all other gods.
The grape harvest has pleased me above everything.
This purple manna falls.
The barefoot tramplet thrusts
the beaten gush of juice
into the vat.

Battalions march in order upon the hillsides.
One cuts the grapes with pruning knives;
another humps them to the presses in a basket.
One turns the wheel around its whining screw,
another piles the squeezed marc, presses it with a plank;
one holds a straining-basket to the spigot,
another takes the crushed seeds;
one holds the hogshead, another empties wine in.
And the whole press resounds with the brilliant noise of it.

And my favorite, Vyacheslav Ivanovich Ivanov’s The Vineyard Of Dionysus:

Dionysus walks his vineyard, his beloved;
Two women in dark clothing – two vintagers – follow him.
Dionysus tells the two mournful guards – The vintagers:
“Take your sharp knife, my vintners, Grief and Torment;
Harvest, Grief and Torment, my beloved grapes!
Gather the blood of scarlet bunches, the tears of my golden clusters –
Take the victim of bliss to the whetstone of grief,
The purple of suffering to the whetstone of bliss;
Pour the fervent liquid of scarlet delights into my ardent Grail!”

You can read more about him here.

Some even link it to the Wolfsangel or wolftrap.