Sitting on the couch, in a wine-stained robe,
her hair a mess, with leaves and twigs sticking to it,
missing one of her shoes, and blood beneath her nails
that had not washed off in the sink,
she was quite the sight to behold.
To think what her professional colleagues
would think if they knew the kind of maenadic activities
she got up to on the weekends
made Bedelia giggle.
And to think, she had once been a model
of sanity and civility
before her Clown Prince and Black Hunter
caught her in his nightmare web.
The funny thing was, she’d never felt so healthy,
so fully alive, so completely herself
until he devoured her and remade her in his image.
And there was no way she’d ever look back now.
She saw firsthand what happened to poor Orpheus;
she still had his blood under her fingernails.

She stood in a gazebo in the park
wearing a modified wedding dress
over her bluejeans
since there was still a chill in the air
this early in the year, a crown of daisies
and ribbons whipped about
by the gaily dancing breezes,
as she read from a red leather-bound
book of Orphic Hymns
and then sang a song of Bowie’s
to rouse the Fruitful God on Lenaia morn,
and free him from his long winter’s dreaming
deep beneath the earth.
And when she was done
she poured out a bottle of sweet Gewürztraminer
onto the pile of penis-shaped honey cakes
she’d set at the base of the linden tree,
and then walked home in the rain,
singing and laughing
in the presence of Ariadne’s sweet man,
bull-horned leader of the chorus of fiery stars,
and eager for a long day of drinking and games.

Dorothea, the daughter of Kleombotos,
carried the bowl of water to the main family shrine
and set it down before the figwood idol
of Dionysos Meilichios, whom her mother
had an especially fervent devotion to.
She got the incense brazier going,
made all the customary sacrifices and prayers
which it was her responsibility as eldest child to perform,
and then moved on to the next shrine,
still full of offerings from Noumenia.
Her thoughts, however, remained with Dionysos,
and specifically when she’d get to meet
the less gentle sides of him.
She was fourteen, well passed when
other girls in the thiasos had received their initiations.
She wondered what it was like on the other side,
to taste the mainadic ecstasy
and be carried away by Bakcheios,
to lose herself in the exhaustion of the dance,
and not stop, never stop dancing for him
or until the sun comes up.
Their domestic cultus,
and even the festive celebrations
her parents took her to in the Bakcheion
were considerably tamer,
and she wanted the real thing.
The kind of thing she saw on vases,
or the stage, or she had heard
from the lap of her Thracian wetnurse.
Dorothea sighed heavily,
and consoled herself with the thought
that one day her day would come.

She was wearing a vermillion dress down to her knees,
belted at the waist with a black sash,
and over her face a black veil,
which did weird, trippy things to her vision.
She had started the night with sandals,
but then the need to feel grass between her toes
became overwhelming and she ditched them.
Nancy stood off by herself,
in the shade of Fred’s old pine tree,
a deeper dark in the backyard gloom.
When she felt the God’s madness claim her
it always made her mute, and saturnine.
The face he showed her was rarely human,
never kind, and near impossible to put into words.
He was like starless night, or a volcanic cave,
the mouth of a bear;
slow, and old and hungry.
Primal. Terrifying. Everything unknown,
and before knowing.
And he took her back there, with him,
especially when she did drugs or dreamed,
with him through the long corridors of madness,
to the dawn days of the world,
or after the fall,
and they spoke in symbols,
for words were not yet,
and he showed her bone,
and rot, and writhing soil full of bugs,
and flowers, and mushrooms,
and fruit being torn with sharp teeth,
and a bull being hacked apart,
and the sun melting the flesh down
down
down
down to the hollow bone.
And somehow Nancy managed
to put all of that, or enough of it,
into her dance
though she was not as pretty
or as graceful as the other Mainades,
she made up for it through the fury of her movements.
And what’s more, this dance was hers,
and for him, and for the duration of it
they were all that existed.

At one end of the room there was a bull’s skull
on a red blanket, with ivy wound round his horns
and plates of cakes and meat
and pomegranates and grapes
and bowls of wine and candles
and spread out like warspoils were his Toys
– mirrors and dolls and rattles and wheels and all the rest,
brought by the guests. And on the other side
was a tent of twigs and leaves,
and under it stood a statue of Ariadne,
and before her was a Labyrinth of white rose petals
and offerings equal to her Husband’s,
possibly even a little more,
and woven through it all,
and climbing the wall behind,
were white, blinking Christmas lights,
otherworldly in the dark and incense-cloudy room.
On the right, midway between, they’d set up
a table full of cups inscribed with epithets
and little pictures of Dionysos and his Bride,
some with red wine, some with pomegranate juice
and the rest with pure, cold water
because the remainder of the space
was filled with hot, dancing bodies.
Ophelia tried to get a count at the start,
when she was spritzing them all down with chernips
and chanting the purificatory oration of Aristides at them,
but the repetition put her in a trance
and she forgot around fifty or so.
So maybe a hundred, hundred and twenty?
Nice turn-out, considering
they hadn’t done much to advertise.
It was always a little strange
in a good way, but still strange –
doing ritual like this, with a crowd
rather than the more intimate
six to thirteen person thiasos she was used to.
Harder to find the rhythm
and keep herself from getting swallowed up
into the group energy.
She felt like she was being tugged
in a dozen different directions at once
and didn’t know which way to go,
or which version of herself to be.
And yet, when she stopped resisting,
stopped trying to make the experience
like what was familiar to her,
and instead just let it be what it would be
and go with the flow,
she found she was able to fly higher
and access parts of her God she could not on her own.
She wasn’t quite there yet in this rite,
which left her overly conscious of the white facepaint
and lacy dress she was wearing,
all the jewelry around her neck and wrists,
and even the ivy crown in her golden hair irritated her.
Normally these aesthetic tools helped her slip easier
into her role as his Mainad, but tonight they felt stifling
and she wanted to strip them all off, and smash them,
and then roll around on the ground,
getting her dress and hair all messy,
crawl like an animal over to the table of wine
and knock all those carefully inscribed
and prettily illustrated cups off, then drag that dude
dressed like a Satyr over, straddle him,
and fuck him silly in the wine,
spreading it all over his hairy body
and licking it off, and then,
just when he’s about to come inside her,
lean down and take a bite out of his shoulder.
“Oh my,” Ophelia said, fanning herself,
and suddenly she felt okay in her skin again,
and so joined the crowd, spinning and dancing
her way across the room until she reached the
shrine of the Bull God, where she prostrated herself,
poured an overflowing libation into one of the bowls,
and offered her mind, her heart and her soul to him,
knowing already that he possessed her body.

Wendy held the bottle of pomegranate liqueur upside down
and peered through its neckhole;
depressingly, it was indeed quite empty.
Not surprising considering how much
she and her sisters had drunk, but still.
That was her favorite, second only to wine.
With an apologetic shrug to the shrine
she licked the bottle’s rim
and then placed it on the counter
along with all the others they’d drained that night.
So many kinds of alcohol
mixing and sloshing in her belly,
tomorrow was really going to suck
but the candles were still burning
(casting eerie shadows on the God’s bearded mask)
and the music still playing
(its driving, pulsing beat doing weird things to her brainmeats)
and the other Mainades still dancing
(a blur of lithe limbs, loose hair and flowing fabrics on her periphery)
and suddenly it all hit Wendy
and she collapsed to the floor,
skin burning, room spinning, close to hyperventilating
and a wave of pleasure sharper, brighter, more intense
than any orgasm she’d ever experienced
moved through her like a burrowing snake of fire.
She opened her mouth
– to cry, to laugh, to scream, to call for help, to exultate,
she forgot which, and instead just let her eyes roll back
and rode the snake in the dark,
alone in an apartment of madwomen,
just her and her God in the foliate mask
except he wasn’t all the way over there,
but next to her, on her, in her
all at the same time,
breathing as she breathed,
trembling as she trembled,
smiling at her from the mirror over the fireplace
except instead of her reflection it was him
stepped straight from a South Italian vase
with billowy himation, crown of ivy, feathery narthex
and hunting boots laced to the knees.
He knelt, and tossed his head back violently
and side to side, letting his dark hair fan out
and cover his face,
shaking his torso like a rattle
or a panther readying for a fight,
his eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking,
through the dark canopy of hair,
and he began to ululate, a fierce and terrible sound,
but it was her voice coming from his throat,
and her body dancing
and her heart thundering
for him, with him, in him.

It’s a bad pain day, so I was up early reading when I came across this passage from the anonymous Stoic treatise Epitoma disciplinarum:

Rhythm is believed to be named after Rhythmonius, the son of Orpheus and Idomena, an Ismarian Nymph, as Nicocrates records in the book he wrote About Music. He records that the brother of Rhythmonus was Hymenes; and the son of Rhythmonius and Chloris, daughter of Tiresias, was Periclymenus, who first sang the deeds of heroes in musical songs. (10.1)

An Ismarian Nymph, you say? This would be another example of Orpheus mating with a Sovereignty Goddess. Interesting.

I would like to take a moment to remind folks that the truly important things cannot be purchased at Walmart, Amazon, or Etsy – in fact they can’t be bought or sold at all. These are the gifts of the Gods, the necessities of a life well-lived – and none among the Blessed Immortals is more generous than Dionysos. As his epiklesis πολυγηθες implies his gifts are beyond number. Here are just a few of them.

Fruitfulness
When Liber had come as a guest to Oeneus, son of Parthaon, he fell in love with Althaea, daughter of Thestius and wife of Oeneus. When Oeneus realized this, he voluntarily left the city and pretended to be performing sacred rites. But Liber lay with Althaea, who became mother of Deïanira. To Oeneus, because of his generous hospitality, he gave the vine as a gift, and showed him how to plant it, and decreed that its fruit should be called ‘oinos’ from the name of his host. (Hyginus, Fabulae 129)

Vine-cutting
It was during the reign of Pandion that Demeter and Dionysos came to Attika. Keleus welcomed Demeter to Eleusis, and Ikarios received Dionysos, who gave him a vine-cutting and taught him the art of making wine. Ikarios was eager to share the God’s kindness with mankind, so he went to some shepherds, who, when they had tasted the drink and then delightedly and recklessly gulped it down undiluted, thought they had been poisoned and slew Ikarios. But in the daylight they regained their senses and buried him. As his daughter was looking for him, a dog named Maira, who had been Ikarios’ faithful companion, unearthed the corpse; and Erigone, in the act of mourning her father, hanged herself. (Apollodoros, Bibliotheca 2.192)

Washings
At the time when Father Liber was leading his army into India, Silenus wandered away; Midas entertained him generously, and gave him a guide to conduct him to Liber’s company. Because of this favour, Father Liber gave Midas the privilege of asking him for whatever he wanted. Midas asked that whatever he touched should become gold. When he had been granted the wish, and came to his palace, whatever he touched became gold. When now he was being tortured with hunger, he begged Liber to take away the splendid gift. Liber bade him bathe in the River Pactolus, and when his body touched the water it became a golden colour. The river in Lydia is now called Chrysorrhoas or Golden-Flow. (Pseudo-Hyginus, Fabulae 191)

Consecrations
The wife of Dion, king of Laconia, was Iphitea, daughter of Prognaus, who had kindly received Apollo. In return Apollo rewarded her by conferring upon her three daughters (Orphe, Lyco, and Carya) the gift of prophecy on condition, however, that they should not betray the Gods nor search after forbidden things. Afterwards Bacchus also came to the house of Dion; he was not only well received, like Apollo, but won the love of Carya, and therefore soon paid Dion a second visit, under the pretext of consecrating a temple, which the king had erected to him. Orphe and Lyco, however, guarded their sister, and when Bacchus had reminded them, in vain, of the command of Apollo, they were seized with raging madness, and having gone to the heights of Taygetus, they were metamorphosed into rocks. Carya, the beloved of Bacchus, was changed into a walnut tree, and the Lacedaemonians, on being informed of it by Artemis, dedicated a temple to Artemis Caryatis. (Maurus Servius Honoratus, Commentary on the Eclogues of Vergil 8.29)

Initiation Rites
Out of gratitude to Charops for the aid the man had rendered him during his war with Lykourgos, Dionysos made over to him the kingdom of the Thracians and instructed him in the secret rites connected with the initiations; and Oiagros, the son of Charops, then took over both the kingdom and the initiatory rites which were handed down in the mysteries, the rites which afterwards Orpheus, the son of Oiagros, who was the superior of all men in natural gifts and education, learned from his father; Orpheus also made many changes in the practices and for that reason the rites which had been established by Dionysos were also called ‘Orphic.’ (Diodoros Sikeliotes, Library of History 3.65.5-6)

Intoxication
Pholos the Centaur received Herakles with all the courtesies due a guest, and opened for him a jar of wine which had been buried in the earth. This jar, the writers of myths relate, had of old been left with a certain Centaur by Dionysos, who had given him orders only to open it when Herakles should come to that place. And so, four generations after that time, when Herakles was being entertained as a guest, Pholos recalled the orders of Dionysos. Now when the jar had been opened the sweet odour of the wine, because of its great age and strength, came to the Centaurs dwelling near there, it came to pass that they were driven mad; consequently they rushed in a body to the dwelling of Pholos and set about plundering him of the wine in a terrifying manner. (Diodoros Sikeliotes, Library of History 4.12.3)

Prophecy
They celebrate orgies, well worth seeing, in honor of Dionysos, but there is no entrance to the shrine, nor have they any image that can be seen. The people of Amphikleia say that this God is their prophet and their helper in disease. The diseases of the Amphikleans themselves and of their neighbors are cured by means of dreams. The oracles of the God are given by the priest, who utters them when under the divine inspiration. (Pausanias, Description of Greece 10.33.11)

Binding
Such gifts as Dionysos gave to men, a joy and a sorrow both. Who ever drinks to fullness, in him wine becomes violent and binds together his hands and feet, his tongue also and his wits with fetters unspeakable, and soft sleep embraces him. (Hesiod, Catalogues of Women fragment 87)

Loosening
Dionysos is the giver of release, whence the God is also called Lusios. And Orpheus says: “Men performing rituals will send hekatombs in every season throughout the year and celebrate festivals, seeking release from lawless ancestors. You, having power over them, whomever you wish you will release from harsh toil and the unending goad.” (Damascius, Commentary on the Phaedo 1.11)

Crowning
This is thought to be Ariadne’s crown, placed by Father Liber among the constellations. For they say that when Ariadne wed Liber on the island of Dia, and all the Gods gave her wedding gifts, she first received this crown as a gift from Venus and the Hours. But, as the author of the Cretica says, at the time when Liber came to Minos with the hope of lying with Ariadne, he gave her this crown as a present. Delighted with it, she did not refuse the terms. It is said, too, to have been made of gold and Indian gems, and by its aid Theseus is thought to have come from the gloom of the labyrinth to the day, for the gold and gems made a glow of light in the darkness. (Hyginus, Astronomica 2.5)

Gnosis
Aristaios received especial honour as a God, in particular by those who harvested the fruit of the olive-tree. And finally, as the myths relate, he visited Dionysos in Thrace and was initiated into his secret rites, and during his stay in the company of the God he learned from him much useful knowledge. And after dwelling some time in the neighbourhood of Mount Haimos he never was seen again of men, and became the recipient of immortal honours not only among the barbarians of that region but among the Greeks as well. (Diodoros Sikeliotes, Library of History 4.81.1)

Contests
Nearby is the temple of Dionysos Kolonates (of the Knoll), by which is a precinct of the hero who they say guided Dionysos on the way to Sparta. To this hero sacrifices are offered before they are offered to the God by the daughters of Dionysos and the daughters of Leukippos. For the other eleven ladies who are named daughters of Dionysos there is held a footrace; this custom came to Sparta from Delphoi. (Pausanias, Description of Greece 3.13.7)

Blighting
When Bacchus sought to bring drought to the land of Argos he cried, ‘Ye rustic Nymphae, deities of the streams, no small portion of my train, fulfil the task that I now do set you. Stop fast with earth awhile the Argolic river-springs, I beg, and the pools and running brooks … The stars lend their strong influence to my design, and the heat-bringing hound of my Erigone is foaming. Go then of your goodwill, go into the hidden places of earth.’ (Statius, Thebaid 4. 684)

Here’s a collection of links relevant to the Starry Bear tradition. Appropriate since this is the time of year when we honor Dionysos as Óðr.

Oh, WordPress stats – you gave me an early Foundation Day present.

Apparently I got some traffic from a blog post entitled “Nazis do not belong in Hellenism” wherein it was argued that I’m one because I wrote this piece where I advocate for personal liberty, women’s rights and condemn France for banning the burka.

I may have read the wrong history books but I do not recall those being the positions of the National Socialist German Worker’s Party. Rather the opposite, I’d have sworn.

Oh well. I love women, and everything about them. (Mostly.) They can dress however they please, whether that’s covered head to toe or titties flapping in the wind. More to the point, it’s none of my damned business how another dresses and comports. Sure, I have opinions. (And the fashion sense of a bisexual male.) But that’s all they are, and I’d never dream of imposing them on another. Unless we’re doing ritual together, in which case you’ve got to wear black, red, white or gold, and nothing else. Because– tradition!

One of the customs we carried over into Foundation Day from earlier winter festivals such as Brumalia, Saturnalia and Kalends is the giving of strenae (“good luck presents.”)

If you aren’t sure what to get the Dionysian in your life, might I recommend one of our Year 4 calendars which have most of his major festivals converted from their lunar dates, something that will prove helpful whether or not their practice is informed by the Starry Bull tradition. I’ve still got a few left from the initial run and won’t be printing more once those all sell out.

If you don’t currently have a Dionysian in your life leave a comment below and y’all can do a gift exchange. I recommend that these be small presents (under $20) and even better something hand made, and filled with prayer and good wishes for the year to come. Normal warnings about strangers on the internet and giving out personal information apply. Just because someone is a reader of this blog does not make them a good or trustworthy individual. (Though it does suggest they have impeccable taste.)

And finally, if you want to gift your humble author and ἱεροποιός (temple steward) a little something something you’re welcome to send donations via Paypal to sannion@gmail.com. I assure you that all donations will either be spent on offerings for the temple, books or drugs.

On the Bakcheion calendar today marks the beginning of our Foundation Day festival, which continues roughly for the next two and a half weeks.

Foundation Day is a modern observance of our temple, combining elements from several ancient Dionysian winter holidays such as Brumalia, Haloa, the Kalendae Ianuariae, etc. Although the bulk of our rites are carried out on December 31st each day from now until then is dedicated to a different letter of the Greek alphabet, with attendant activities and themes for reflection.

If you can’t keep all of the days it’s recommended that you pick the one whose letter begins your name and do something extravagant at that time. For instance since I’m Sannion I would choose Σίγμα – which happens to fall on Christmas. What day is yours?

Anyway, have fun as we count down the remainder of the year and prepare to commemorate the establishment of our temple, the Hudson Valley Bakcheion.

We just finished our ritual for the 4th week of Sunwait, a modern Heathen custom counting down the time until Yule.

In addition to copious prayers and offerings to our assorted Gods and Ancestors, we placed the first batch of Bakcheion calendars on the shrine so that they could be charged with blessings and protections for the recipients in the year to come, before they get shipped out tomorrow.

It was a lovely and moving rite that called to mind previous Yule observances and put me in the mood for celebrating this festival with my household once again.

I hope all of my readers are doing well this season and that luck, health and wealth be yours in the year to come!

I’m currently reading a couple articles y’all might find interesting. First, a general overview of Boötes and its related constellations, and secondly E. Antonello’s suggestion that roughly 5,000 years ago Ursa Major and Minor appeared closer to Boötes than they presently do.

While beatboxing with Siri can be fun I have a better game to play.

Spot those Toys!

Each of the videos on this playlist feature at least 3 or 4 of the Toys of Dionysos – and some contain all. Can you find them?

If you’re still interested in getting a Year 4 (2022 e.v.) Bakcheion calendar shoot me an email and I’ll give you payment details. I’ll be sending the files to the printer over the weekend and mailing out the calendars early next week. I won’t be doing a large print run on these (unless I suddenly get a lot of requests) so don’t hesitate, or you may miss out!

Music is an essential part of my devotional practice, and over the years I’ve assembled numerous playlists for Dionysos. (And before YouTube and MP3s there were mix-tapes – with actual cassettes even!)

Here’s a couple I’d like to share with you today.

Dionysos Bakcheios

Dionysos Lusios

Primal Dionysos (created by Dver; stolen by me)

Starry Bull myth mix

Starry Bear

Black Sun