As a tribalist and traditionalist my political beliefs have never really mapped well onto the Right-Left dichotomy of the American (and more broadly European) system, leaving me without a party or an interest in participating in this country’s institutions since I began thinking seriously about such matters. (Longer even, as I haven’t voted since I was a teenager. I did it once, didn’t like it, and decided never again for me.)

This is why it has amused me when people persist in calling me a Nazi, despite the numerous posts I’ve written breaking down all my criticisms of the ideology (for instance, my rejection of the nation-state; of socialism; and of industrialization and modernism, all of which were such foundational principles that they’re in the fucking name itself), that my ancestors fought and died fighting fascism, and I even quit using all representations of the Sonnenrad Heinrich Himmler designed for Wewelsburg castle (even though the symbol was ultimately unpopular and actively opposed by the Nazis themselves and my decision to use it had nothing to do with its origin) lest there be any confusion.

So it’s not that I believe that one’s polytheism should be politics-free (I’m not even sure that that is possible, although I’ve attempted to create apolitical space in the past so that we could come together despite our differences to worship and discuss sacred things for it to inevitably get hijacked) it’s just that I’m really uncomfortable with the ways in which people go about combining them, especially when they attempt to ascribe political and party affiliation to our Gods, as John Beckett, Tess Dawson, Sarenth Odinsson, the r/hellenism and r/dionysus forums on Reddit, and so many others have. Now, keep in mind, these people are not making inferences based on the principles of a given religious tradition, speculatively engaging with myths and sacred texts, or other perfectly acceptable (if incorrectly applied) types of exegesis.

No.

They are presuming to act as the mouthpieces for the Gods (as if our Mighty Ones were not capable of communicating their wills and desires on their own) and what’s worse (and inevitable with such individuals) they are claiming this as their own sole prerogative, and damning any who would dare to follow their example, especially if they happen to arrive at differing conclusions and sloganeering.

It’s all so tedious and predictable, and would be laughable if history wasn’t littered with uncountable examples of the atrocities that all too often follow such talk. Actually, scratch that. There’s precious little that’s funny about blasphemy and hubris (excluding the punishment this brings down which can be a laugh riot, provided you’re a safe distance away when it happens.)

This, to bring it back around, is why I am a traditionalist and tribalist. Our traditions have safety mechanisms built in to protect against such impiety and the countless evils that this vice unleashes into a community. Probably the most important being: let’s take it to the diviners and oracles. You think Zeus supports your “No Kings” riot? Fucking prove it. And accept the consequences if it turns out mantikē has a different story to tell.

For instance, one of my strongest detractors, who has jumped in every time my name’s come up in various fora to shout about how evil I am and how horribly I’m misrepresenting things whether people want to hear it or not for years and years, finally had the good sense to take it to the mat and, much to her surprise, discovered that Dionysos affirmed the positions I have been advocating this whole time. (Though she’s still mistaken about my alleged fascism.) And you know, respect to her for not only checking but having the moral courage to admit it publicly. That certainly puts her ahead of the folks I’ve been discussing.

And that’s not only why I embrace the tribalist identity (or rather it’s one of numerous reasons) but have no interest in the pan-polytheist movement which reached its nadir circa 2010-2014 or the endless communal brouhahas. I can say, “Those people simply ain’t my people; why would I care what they think?” and instead focus on those who are, and the wonderful things we are doing together for our Gods and spirits. 

End of April, 1741. A son was recently born to Empress Maria Theresa, and the Jewish community in Prague is celebrating, parading in the streets. The blaring of trumpets, the pounding of drums, and the swell of joyous melodies fill the air. Leading the procession is the Jewish postman, wearing a wig with a long braid, topped by a luxurious hat. After him, accompanied by two trumpeters, rides Simon Wolff Frankel — the ‘primator’ — the mayor of the Jewish city, so says the inscription in German that describes the detailed drawing of the procession of the Jews through the streets of the city. From the medieval to the early modern era, the city was the political unit of the greatest importance. Thus, early modern urban processions are understood in the research literature to represent the different parts of society and the internal relations between them. Edward Muir has suggested that they can be seen as a kind of unwritten ‘civic constitution’, where the processions did more than showcase social order; they symbolically reinforced the city’s identity as a cohesive political unit. It is therefore unsurprising to see the head of the community, Simon Wolff, leading the procession of the Jewish city of Prague, in the first row. The presence of scholars and rabbis, representatives of the religious–traditional leadership in the second row, is also not unexpected. The Jewish guilds (butchers, tailors, and bookbinders) asserted their prominence within the community by their flags hanging from huge poles. Yet what most catches the eye is the enormous image of Bacchus. Six Jews lead his carriage, and he himself is riding on a giant wine barrel. Behind him, a Jewish reveller dances while brandishing a bottle of beer. Not far from him is a giant platform carried by eight people, on which the god Pan is depicted as he plays his long shepherd’s flute. Forest animals are also carried on the platform, peeping from between the trees, enchanted by his melody. Why are Bacchus and Pan marching in the Jewish street? What was their role in the cultural composition of Jewish communities in Europe in the eighteenth century? This question should naturally be directed to the rabbi — the representative of religious authority in the traditional Jewish community in the early modern period. Let us turn to the row of bearded rabbis in the second row of the procession. One of them, Rabbi Jonathan Eybeschütz (1690–1764) served at that time as the senior rabbinical authority in the city’s Jewish community. Three years after marching alongside Bacchus and Pan in a parade, Rabbi Eybeschütz surprisingly described the importance of Greco-Roman mythology for Jewish culture.

— Maoz Kahana, The return of the gods: Greco-Roman mythology in eighteenth-century rabbinic lore

I hail the Dionysian Dead on this final night of Katachthonia. May they never thirst!

Against the Mevakkaltas I

By the glorious name, and authority and power
of Dionysos Agrios I command you to open your mouth
and accept your adjuration and ban, O Mevakkalta-demon,
whatever your name happens to be; it is irrelevant in the end,
for all of you daughters of Mevakkalta, daughter of Zarnay the Lilith,
are alike in your desire to inflict torments on your chosen victims,
and feed off of the pain and misery, the doubt and confusion,
and the spiritual gifts you twist, and stunt, or snuff out entirely.
Although you once outnumbered the Lilim and Mazzikim,
and were more powerful than the Ruḥot and Šedim,
today there are fewer of you than the Nephilim
who survived the great deluge, or the Rephaim
who were slaughtered by King Chedorlaomer and his allies
at the battle of Ašteroṯ Qarnayim. You slink about at night,
attended by the host of evil dreams who are enslaved to you,
and attempt to seduce youths into copulating with you in the hope
of having children of your own. And when you are unsuccessful
in your endeavor because of the curse
laid upon you by Yahō’s wife Ašerah
which made you as ugly on the outside as you are within,
and barren as the stones that once comprised
the impregnable walls of Jericho
until the blast of Joshua’s shofar brought them tumbling down,
you vent your rage on the daughters in the house,
especially if they happen to be the firstborn of the family,
and blessed with beauty, charm, wisdom, piety
and all of the other things your vile race is lacking.
If, by chance, the boy’s seed puts a girl-child in your belly
(for you Mevakkaltas have not produced
male offspring since the days of Balaam)
it will be as feeble and grotesque as its mother.
And so I say to you, Mevakkalta most wretched of demonkind,
remove your tendrils from the minds and bodies
of everyone beneath this roof,
and go far away from this place;
do not bother these fine people,
or anyone of their bloodline again,
or Dionysos, āšipu of the Gods,
will place his seal upon your forehead,
using a spike of iron to keep it in place,
rendering you powerless and breaking your hold
over the evil dreams and other spirits that you command;
he will bind you with iron chains, and with iron shackles, and with iron fetters;
he will sew up the lips of your mouth and of your vagina with iron thread,
so that you can neither curse nor copulate;
he will beat you with iron rods,
and pierce you seventeen times with an iron knife.
Then he will cast you into the deepest depths of Tartaros
to become the plaything of the spirits of the dead Giants,
the wrathful Titans, and the other terrible denizens of Hell’s Hell
who excel even him in the arts of torment,
and no one on Earth or in Heaven
will ever think of you again,
O Mevakkalta-demon whose name,
and desires, and accomplishments
do not matter.

Against the Mevakkaltas II

Guilty of crimes beyond numbering
and full of jealousy and hate,
grim daughter of Mevakkalta,
bringing torment and misery
into the life of the eldest daughter, and the
next and the next down the line, as each is
drained of their vitality, strength, luck and the
surety of the Gods, and spirits, and their dead;
everything you’re scheming will come to naught,
venal creature, for you have made bitter
enemies out of Sabaōth, protector of life,
raging and rampaging Dionysos,
and ʾAšmedai the bringer of death;
not only do they possess awesome power
and cleverness like nothing you have seen before,
but these three individuals have joined together
to stop you from harming NN,
or harming any others after her.
Burning worse than the touch of iron,
like lightning are these charms they’ve handed
over to us to cripple you, Mevakkalta, and
crush you, so that you become prey
to demonic kin far worse than you.
The mighty voces magicae are:
Asarē, Asarou, Achthanou, Saranarchou, Arountē;
and Arara, Charara, Hax, Pax, Adimax;
Asca, Basca, Rastaia, Serc, Cercer, Recercel, Acereba;
and Abachour, Thouchar, Ōsouchar, Sabachar.
IŌ ERBĒTH
IŌ PHARBĒTH
IŌ PAKERBĒTH
IŌ APOMPS
Shin. Shin. Shin.

Against the Mevakkaltas III

O daughters of Mevakkalta, descendants of Zarnay
the dancing-girl and Samaēl the venom of God,
who sit at the crossroads combing out your hair,
who dance on the rooftops, and ride the whirlwinds,
you who revile the male and female Liliths almost as much
as you do Michaēl the Prince of the Heavenly Host;
like a tick gorged on the blood of its victim,
Mevakkalta-demons, you attach yourselves
to family lines, and drain all of the luck, vitality,
and joy that you can from them, targeting especially
the firstborn daughters for whom you have reserved
greater torment than all the others. You bombard
such a girl with whispered deceits and barbed cruelties
until she takes your voice for her own, and internalizes
your messages of smallness, inferiority, disgust
with herself and hatred for all of womankind.
You sexually assault her in her sleep,
and show her far worse things in her dreams,
until she is willing to agree to
or do anything, just to make it stop.
You dangle opportunities in front of her,
only to dash them to the ground
and laugh as they shatter like pottery,
and you sabotage the things she works hardest at
so that she never receives the recognition she deserves,
and has to watch the less worthy surpass her.
You destroy everything she cares for,
and take from her all those whom she loves,
and I won’t even mention what you do
to defenseless infants, and the aged and infirm.
But you will not succeed this time, against
NN, her bloodline, and everyone in her household,
O malice-filled children of Mevakkalta, for your
whole ignoble race are bound, and inscribed,
and banned, and condemned, and excommunicated,
by the Great God Dionysos who fills demonkind
with terror and trembling and a desire to flee
lest they be destroyed by his awful power and fury
whenever he is near. All agreements are dissolved,
any claim you have made on NN is shattered,
and she is set free of your influence, never to be
troubled, or tormented by your wicked kind again.
No Mevakkalta may harm the mind, the soul, the luck,
the flesh, the bones, or the blood of NN, her family,
or her household due to the unbreakable seal
which Dionysos the son of Zeus has placed upon her,
and all of hrr descendants, from now until
the Sun, the Moon, the Planets, and all of the Stars
have fallen from Heaven.
So long as they remain in place, so shall NN
and those related to her have nothing to fear
from you daughters of Mevakkalta.

Against the Mevakkaltas IV

Dionysos was traveling to visit his famed shrine at Tel Šor
near the river of Kišon, when he heard wailing and terrible
shrieks coming from a house on the outskirts of the village
of Šūnēm. He sent his Se’irim, and dancing women, and
the rest of the festive company on ahead to wait for him,
then Dionysos changed his appearance, putting on the
attire of a vagabond āšipu, and approached the house
where he was greeted by a little girl who was playing
with a stick in the dirt, too poor to have any toys of her own.
“Your clothes are funny,” she remarked, “like the clothes
an Aluzinnū.” And Dionysos smiled and said,
“Indeed they are, but they make the Šedim
and Mazzikim afraid, so I like them.”
She nodded and said, “I like them too.”
Dionysos reached into one of the pouches tied to his belt
and retrieved a ball of many colors, a tuft of wool, and a doll
with beautiful black eyes and hair like her own, which he
handed over to her. The girl began to cry, and Dionysos
leaned down, kissed the top of her head, and said, “Where
do these tears come from?” And she answered him, “Your
gifts are so beautiful, and yet ever since my sister and I dug
that jar up out of the earth, our family has known only suffering
and want. First, my father was injured and has not been able to
work. Then my mother was struck down by a quartan fever which
neither the doctors nor the village healing-women could cure,
and she died. My sister’s fiancé was stung by scorpions, and died too.
And now the evil spirit that we released from the jar has taken possession
of my sister, and our father is spending the last of the family’s money on
quacks who are just making things worse. The Gods have abandoned us,
and I am afraid of what further evils lie in store for us.”
Dionysos held her tight, and then stood and entered the accursed house.
Moments later the sham exorcists were tripping over themselves as they fled,
and the shrieks of her sister went silent,
nor did her father make any sounds from his bed.
When the silence had gone on long enough for her curiosity
to get the better of her, the girl crept to the door and peered in,
and she gasped at what she saw. Her sister and father were
cradling each other, both fully recovered, and watching
with horror the scene before them.
The evil spirit was out of her sister, and being held in place by four women
who glowed as bright as the Sun, as the stranger swung a hammer, pounding
iron nail after iron nail into the thing’s pitch-black body.
Nails like a diadem circled her brow;
nails had been driven into her eyes,
and ears, and used to shut her curse-speaking mouth;
there were nails in her breast, and in her stomach,
in her hands, and her knees and her feet. So many nails
that the girl could not count them all.
The stranger set the hammer down and smiled at the girl,
“Do not worry, little one, this Mevakkalta and her sisters
will not trouble your family again. The bonds connecting
this Mevakkalta to your family, NN,
were shattered and cannot be reforged.
Each of these nails is punishment for the wickedness she
has done to you NN, or to someone you love,
and each burns like the fires of Gē-Hīnnōm,
and will continue to do so even if she manages to pluck them out.
This Mevakkalta is going to be cast into the outer darkness,
never to find her way back, and with her will go
all of the pain, and illness, and poverty, and grief that she has loosed
upon your family, NN. Should you ever find yourself in need,
call upon the four Ladies who stand here assisting me, the Ancestral Mothers
who are the iron rods with which ʾĒl Šaddai and Ašerah Queen of Heaven
chastise those who do evil to their people. Never forget: even in the midst
of your suffering you are loved by your Gods and by your dead.
There is no place where they are not. Trust in them, and you will be saved.
Now, enough with sorrows, enough with tears; go and embrace your
sister and your father, who have been restored to you this day.”
First the Mevakkalta and then the stranger disappeared, though the toys
he had gifted the little girl remained, and she carried his message with her
the rest of her days.

When ʾAšmedai the King of the Šedim finishes
his daily studies at the Celestial Yeshiva he retires
to his mountain of solitude deep in the desert
where he drinks wine and hymns Yahō Elōaie Sabaōth
until evening turns into night; from night until
morning he is on the prowl with his hostile host.

Although the mountain is difficult to find and difficult
to traverse, one day in the month of Tishrei ʾAšmedai
returned to find Dionysos Lord of the Se’irim waiting
for him in a tent of greenery he had constructed for shelter
against the brutal heat of the Sun.

To forestall any angry outbursts Dionysos Sabai offered
his fiery host an amphora of wine, and not just any wine
but some made from the vineyards of Eškōl, the finest
in the region. ʾAšmedai was drunk before he drained
his first cup, and cup upon cup followed until the demon
was dancing, and singing, and discussing aggadah with his guest.

Then ʾAšmedai went silent and somber, until Dionysos Eubouleos
was able to carefully draw the cause from him. “My mother.
All of our kind are evil, but she excels everyone since hatred of sad
Mevakkalta has turned her heart harder than a stone. I fear that this
will bring her into conflict with you, because of this crusade
you are waging.”

“I war not against evil, but something far worse; that which
would unmake all that exists. As long as she gives me no cause,
I will not consider Agrat daughter of Maḥalat an enemy.
This I swear to you, ʾAšmedai son of David.”

“And I swear to you, Dionysos son of Zeus, that I will come
to the aid of any of your Bakchai who inscribe a letter shin
and call upon my secret name, which is Šamdon. Especially
if they are being harassed by one of the Mevakkalta-demons;
against her I will send the entire nation of Šedim.”

And to solemnize their oath the two drank more
of the harvest of Eškōl, and have returned
to the mountain each year on Sukkoṯ
to renew it. Amen and amen. Selah!

O Agrat bat Maḥalat, spirit of fornication,
Yahō banished you from his heavenly kingdom
when proud Hēlēl ben Šāḥar raised his sword of flame
against Michaēl, Archistrategos of the Angelic Armies,
and you slew the Seraphim Asyā and Bēlusia
using a red snake and a black snake for arrows.

O Agrat bat Maḥalat, filthy thing that lives to corrupt,
you and your thousand and eight hundred followers
were driven from fiery Sheol when your husband Samaēl
challenged Abaddōn for rule of that wretched place, and lost.

O Agrat bat Maḥalat, queen of the demons along with
Eišeth Zēnunīm, Naamah, and your hated rival Lilith,
the inhabited parts of the upper world are denied you
except on Wednesdays and Shabbos eve, leaving you
the desert wastes where the onager and scorpion
have their dwelling, and that only because
the righteous Ḥanina ben Dosa changed his prayer
at the last moment, granting you those small mercies.
Don’t expect similar treatment this time;
wipe the fake tears from your cheeks,
and quit your vain plaints, for though I am
accomplished in sacred rites as he was
I am not that man, blessed be his memory,
and I worship a very different sort of God.

O Agrat bat Maḥalat, who preys upon our weaknesses,
if you persist in sending visions of every kind of lewdness
and attempt to twist my natural desires into something perverse;
if you fill my mind with innumerable distractions and plant seeds of doubt
and indifference that will grow into a thorny bush difficult to uproot;
if you stir up petty grievances, undeserved annoyance, and corrosive
jealousy to weaken and shatter the bonds of marriage, and friendship,
and duty to my divinities and community, you will regret it, fiend!
There will be no place left for you to flee, no day on which you are free
to trouble mankind, and even Mår and Meŝtag will turn their backs
and pretend not to know you, for fear of the wrath you have provoked
in the God who is my protector, and my refuge, the one
whom I constantly pray to and make offerings to, Dionysos of Beit She’an.
He hunts in the mountains of Gilbōa, and stalks the Jezreēl valley in search
of your kind. He catches a hundred demons in his net and beheads them
with his terrible double axe by night, and during the day he chases down
a hundred more, until he catches them and drowns them in the river Jordan.

Do you doubt his ferocity and power? Then ask Beliar the next time
you go secretly to his bed to commit your whoredoms, or look at the scars
that valiant warrior of the Abyss bears upon his body. Once the whole region
belonged to him, and he had a dark tower reaching to the heavens there.
But he challenged wide-traveling Dionysos as he was passing through,
your lover in the shape of a wolf and the stranger in the likeness of a bull.
The battle was fierce but decisive, and after the battered Beliar
tucked tail and ran, the son of Zeus tore the dark tower down
and built his city, the jewel of the Decapolis, upon its ruins.
And lest you forget, it was to the arms of Mevakkalta
that Beliar fled, not to your own.

So depart from this place while you still can; forget our names
and temptations, and trouble this pious household no more,
Agrat bat Maḥalat, or we will remember yours.

Where stone was stacked upon stone
the demon queen Eišeth Zēnunīm
was sitting on a stone.
Then came her son
the ugly dwarf Nemesōth,
who had just been blasting
the fields and wasting the cattle
of their neighbor, the poor
but hard-working Georgikos.
“Oh, audacious mother,
are you sleeping there,
or just resting on those rocks?”
“Oh, my envy-inducing son,
I neither sleep or rest.
While you were out troubling
the neighbors, I had a short sleep
and dreamt a terrible dream.
In the dream you were damaging
the vineyards of NN, the servant
of the Lord Dionysos.
They prayed to him for assistance
and immediately he appeared,
the mighty son of Zeus
who is a terror to us wicked spirits.
You ran, but were caught by the cruel God,
and his even crueler companions.
They tortured you worse
than you torture your victims.
They burned you with fire,
and cut you with steel,
and ripped your arms and legs off,
and cut your screaming head from your body.
While the companions of Dionysos
carried the pieces of you far and wide,
so that they could never be joined together again,
Dinysos reached down with his healing hands
and crushed your evil eyes, my son.
Then the fingers of each hand became
a Lion, a Scorpion, a Snake, a Wasp, and a Spider
which crawled into your empty sockets and caused
tremendous torment to your pitiful head.”
The dwarf Nemesōth cried, “Oh no! Mother, your dream
frightens me so.” As he stood there trembling by the rocks,
Eišeth Zēnunīm said, “Now listen to me, boy, you leave NN
and everything that belongs to NN alone; don’t provoke
that one’s God against us, or not only you, but our entire
family will regret it.” And Nemesōth solemnly agreed.

I banish you Nemesōth, son of perdition,
and bind you, unclean spirit, to stay away
from this shrine-filled home
and from these amulet-protected people.
O jealous-hearted one with eyes of evil,
who carries sickness and ill luck
in your misshapen hands, Nemesōth
whose presence causes food to spoil,
things to fall and break, babies to cry,
and animals to act erratically.
O Nemesōth, living abortion of Eišeth Zēnunīm,
hated even by the Dēvs, the Ŝēdu, and the Lilīm;
by the thyrsos, the cup overflowing with wine,
and the double-axe of Dionysos the Deliverer
I command you to go as far from this place and these people
as the Earth is separated from Heaven.
And should you ever think to set your evil eyes
upon them again, you shall have to contend with
Askion, Kataskion, Lix, Tetrax, Damnameneus, and Aision.

In the name of Dionysos of Tel Šor, the Deliverer,
I rebuke you, and command that you depart, shatterer
of hearts, beguiler of minds, corrupter of souls, defiler
of bodies, O beast of Masṭēmā, who is both one and many;
you tremble at the terrible name of the Furious One,
for you remember that time when you met him on the road,
midway between Beit She’an and Tarichaia. At his approach
you made the netmaker you were possessing shriek, and spit,
and maim her own flesh, until the son of Zeus gently placed
his hand upon the woman’s head and ordered you out.
His touch was like fire from Heaven and tormented you
more than when your master, the King of the dead Giants,
stitched you together in grotesque mockery of the beautiful
things that Yahō Sabaōth made atop Mount Sinai
and loosed to fill the world. Unable to bear it,
you exited her body as a dog vomits up its foulness,
and presented your misshapen form to the Masked God.
Your hindquarters are those of a scorpion,
while your torso is that of a man with the heads of seven monsters.
There is Zemzem the lion, who induces fear and despondency;
Abalō the bull, who brings death and mourning;
Zaōth the serpent, cause of countless infirmities;
Yaōth the eagle, potentate of the proud;
Ōnothaios the donkey, who gives forth false prophecies;
Oraios the dog, spirit of bondage and addiction;
and Elōgaios the boar, who revels in harlotry and every kind of filth.
Freed of the the netmaker you were exposed to the fullness of his wrath,
for you choose as your victims the feeble-minded, the insane, the drunkard,
the prostitute, the poor, the lonely, the grieving, the outcast and anyone else
you think weak and easily broken down —
but all these are under the protection of Dionysos and his Furious Host,
and he reminded you of what that means on that day,
as he has numerous times since.
So flee far from this person and this place,
and don’t you dare consider coming back, or I will invoke
the myriads that surround his throne in Nysa,
and only when they are through with you
will I call upon Dionysos, your tormentor.

O Yahō’s executioner who rebelled against your master,
who was given a portion of the souls of dead
Nephilim to test the virtue of mortalkind
but instead made them do your abominable bidding;
you who hardened the heart of Pharaoh
and drowned the Egyptians who pursued the Hebrews in their flight;
you who bound Isaac, and attacked Zipporah at the inn;
you who smote Beliar, and challenged Samaēl and Abaddōn
for the infernal throne; I rebuke you and bind you
from further harming this pious household
by the authority and might of the whole Divine Assembly.
O hostile and heedless one, you hateful spirit of enmity,
you have transgressed your warrant in afflicting me
and my loved ones, for I am one who worships the Gods
and especially Dionysos, the Lord of the Lash,
the God of Suffering, the one who humbles the proud
and fills the hearts of wicked spirits with terror.
I hand you over for punishment, wretch,
polluter of thoughts, sepsis of souls,
and to you Dionysos shall say:
“be thou annihilated, O Masṭēmā,
thou foe of the ʾĔlōhīm.
Be thou annihilated, O Abū Murrah,
thou foe of the Ālīhat.
Be thou annihilated, O Kemōsh,
thou foe of the ‘Ilhm.
Thou shalt not exist and thy deeds shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy magic shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy utterance shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy mouth shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy arms shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy hands shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy bones shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy body shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy skin shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy shape shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy substance shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy being shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy soul shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy seed shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy children shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy siblings shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy entire household shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy grave shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy entering shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and thy going shall not exist;
thou shalt not exist and no place where thou art shall exist.
O Masṭēmā, thou foe of the ʾĔlōhīm, mayest thou perish!
O Abū Murrah, thou foe of the Ālīhat, mayest thou perish!
O Kemōsh, thou foe of the ‘Ilhm, mayest thou perish!
Mayest thou be blind and unable to speak;
may thy head be crushed, thy teeth shattered, thy poison spilt.
May thy name perish! May thy name perish! May thy name perish!
Be annihilated, annihilated! Be slain, slain! Be cut to pieces, pieces!
Be cut up, cut up! Be severed, severed! Be slaughtered, slaughtered!
Thy head shall be cut off with this pruning-knife
in the presence of my Retinue every day and every night,
for Zagreus has felled thee. Thou art given over to the God
who always catches his prey, he whose word is powerful,
and can make things happen simply by speaking them.
Thine head is severed from thy neck,
thy soul is fallen, thy shade is not,
thou art destroyed at the place of execution,
thy body is mutilated, and thou art cast on thy back;
all because thou harassed one who bears my mark.”
That is what the God of the Tree says; I say:
ἐχθρός
χθρός
θρός
ρός
ός
ς
You are nothing, and you serve the nameless,
though you think you have the honor of ruling Sheol
and its denizens. Destroyer, you shall be destroyed,
consumed by your own arrogance and wrath.
Go and suffer your fate rather than harass us pious folk.

O Masṭēmā who breaks the neck of the lamb,
you who have been afflicting myself and my household
causing callousness, contempt, and contention,
listen to the words I say, for I speak
with the authority of Dionysos Shadrapha,
the Lord of Leptis Magna! My God Dionysos
heals all manner of wounds and illness,
and takes the power away from the demons
in many forms and fashions,
by gentle means and by harsh.
He releases the captives from bondage,
and makes peace where
there were violent disturbances before.
Do not place your might and fury
against his own; instead, just listen.
You wish to be called “Tawḥīd-i Mesetēma”
but you are not the truest of monotheists,
for you have forsaken your God
and set up an idol in your heart,
believing devotion and compassion
to be less important than legalism
and righteous indignation.
But hasn’t Sabaōth of Sinai said
that as much as he delights in the odor
of sacrificial smoke, that much more
he desires mercy and justice?
How vexing it must have been, then,
when Adōnai favored the offerings
of Alexander the son of Olympias over your own,
and he an uncircumcised gentile at that!
The idol has made your heart cold and hard
like the stone it was crafted from,
and so you are incapable of expressing any emotion
save for wrath; therefore your worship is nothing
more than empty mimicry.
When he favored the Makedonian
who was zealous in the worship
of all the Gods he encountered
as he followed in the footsteps of Dionysos,
wrath became resentment and you fell out of favor
with Yahō your Lord, and so took your army of Nephilim
fleeing into the deserts which the sons of Ishmaēl had claimed,
changing your name from Masṭēmā to Abū Murrah
for you are bitter to this day, and Iblīs for you remain in grief,
far from the sight of your God and his Heavenly Court.
Those who send you against me Masṭēmā,
they call you for their petty squabbles
and blind hatreds, but I give you this gift.
Be at peace.
Be at peace with your God.
Be at peace with the world.
Be at peace with yourself.
Be at peace with me,
and with my household.
Be at peace, Masṭēmā.
Be at peace, Masṭēmā.
Be at peace, Masṭēmā.

Mambrē lay to the west of the cave of Machpēlah, past the
valley of Eškōl teeming with terebinths, cedars, and date palms,
pomegranates, fig-trees, and most abundantly of all — rows of vines
which bore giant clusters of grapes all year long, planted as a sign
of Dionysos’ gratitude for the hospitality shown him in the
hill country of Hebrōn.

The Angels who rebelled against Yahō Sabaōth and his Ašerah
fled the Heavenly realm and alighted atop the peak of Mount Hebrōn,
where they planned to swear an oath of allegiance to Šemyāzā,
the instigator of their apostasy, after cutting down the Oak of Mambrē
which had been growing on that spot for as long as the world had existed,
so that they could fashion it into an altar upon which
each Angel would sacrifice one of the goats who grazed
on the mountain as a holocaust to Šemyāzā,
who styled himself a God equal to his maker.
But no matter how furiously the Angels smote it with their fiery weapons
the Oak of Mambrē remained undamaged, until finally
Šemyāzā summoned them back to Hebrōn’s heights
and exacted a smokeless vow from his mutinous host.

O Dionysos of Beit She’an, Lord of the hairy Se’irim who dwell in the wastes
and delight in playing pranks on travelers headed to Egypt or Syria, I pray,
make me like that mighty Oak of Mambrē, rooted deep in the Earth
with my head in the high Heavens, and able to withstand all of the blows
and harassments of the abominable spirits who would delight
in seeing me fall; may all of their machinations be thwarted,
and result in nothing more than the empty words that Šemyāzā
was able to extort from the rebel Angels who turned
on their oathed master just as they had betrayed Yahō Sabaōth
and his Ašerah as soon as it suited them, warring brutally amongst themselves
and carrying off the beautiful daughters of man so that they could defile them
and sire the incorrigible race of Giants who slaughtered their fathers
and devoured so many beasts and men because of their insatiable appetites
that they would have left the Earth as barren as the Negev
had the Lord of Sinai not flooded the plains with a storm so terrible
its like had never been seen before, nor has he punished wickedness
that way since, because of the troth he gave the herald
and messenger of the Gods on high, Iris of the rainbow-colored hair,
daughter of Thaumant and Elektra the Ōkeanide.

Though the waters covered all, obliterating any remnants
of the antediluvian races in the Levant, Mambrē stood tall
and unmoved by the deluge, and the oasis of Eškōl
returned when the waters receded through the power
of wonder-working Dionysos, as the Hebrew spies discovered
when they were preparing for the conquest of Canaan.
Lord of Nysa, I pray, may I possess such endurance
and resilience in the face of my own hardships and calamities,
and never fail to praise the Gods who are glorious and good,
no matter how dark and destructive the trials
I am passing through turn out to be.
And though Šemyāzā escaped the chastisement
that fell upon the heads of the Egrēgoroi and Nephilim,
may he be powerless to harm, impede or distract me
from the holy service that has been given me to fulfill,
and to which I have dedicated my life, my power,
and my resources to.

Dionysos Dhū-Šarā was sharing a Sabbath dinner
with Yahō of Teman and Ašerah his beloved wife,
when the peaceful festivities were interrupted by Martû
leader of the hateful Giants in their assault on Heaven,
having stacked Mount Gerizim atop Mount Ebal
so that they could reach the dwelling of the Most High.
Martû was the first to be struck down by the terrible harpoon
with which Adōnai dragged Leviathan up from the depths;
then Šemyāzā and Asaēl, instigators of iniquity,
felt the unfettered wrath of Ēl Šadday. Ferocious Dionysos
threw Achōr, Bēlisath and Gadrahaēl into Tartaros
to join their brothers, after removing the heads from their bodies.
And Ašerah impaled Yōšiah the defiler with a pole,
then chased Anak across the sky to the place where the Sun sets.
Yahō Sabaōth gave a great battle-cry and the mountains
separated once more and returned to their rightful spaces,
sending Nimrōth and the remaining Giants plummeting to the Earth,
where the Angels and Archangels swiftly dispatched them,
creating a deluge of blood throughout Samaria and Judea,
which is why the Sea of Arabah is salty to this day.
Dionysos, fearing for his family back in Hellas,
prepared to mount his swift battle-donkey and depart,
but Yahō clasped arms with him and pledged to assist
the Olympians in thwarting the assault of the terrible Earthborn,
and the two mighty Gods sped across the Heavens in a chariot
drawn by winged Cherūbim of terrifying countenance,
arriving just as the forces of Typhōn were about to breach
the mansions of Zeus and his divine court, like Eurymedōn
and his kin had attempted before. When the dreadful war was over
and the violent forces of Typhōn vanquished, Yahō and Dionysos were closer
than brothers and the Lord of the Vine extended his protection to the Jews,
Ašerah and Yahō’s covenanted people, in their wanderings
after Typhōn’s son Legiōn drove them from their homeland
and demolished Yahō’s holy temple in Jerusalem,
in revenge for his father being chained beneath Mount Aetna
during the Second Gigantomachia. Be mindful of my utterance,
spirit of hate and division, and why I pronounced it.
Know this too: Dionysos stands to your left,
and Yahō of Teman is on your right;
Ašerah is behind you,
and facing you are countless Angels and Archangels
led by Michaēl, the Prince of Heaven, who wields a fiery sword.
Of the vast host who took part in Typhōn’s rebellion,
the Gods slew 409,000 of them.
How much more were these Giants and fallen divinities
than you, O unclean thing?
Do you think things will somehow go differently
for you who pants after wickedness?
Now would be a good time to leave,
and never come back, before it is too late for you.

This Halloween I’m going as a Bacchic-Jewish demon-hunter. A lot of these techniques are quite effective.

Well, fuck.

What began as a fairly laid back but moving deipnon for the Underworld Gods of various cultures ended with ekstasis, tears and the power going out for several blocks around.

That’s how you know you’re doing things right.

And this is just the first night of Katachthonia.

I have often argued that Horror is a uniquely Dionysian genre and should be given an honored position alongside Tragedy, Comedy, Satyr-plays, Dithyrambs, and Mimes in his dramatic canon. If I had to pick nine films (say, three for each night of the Καταχθόνια) I would probably choose:

1. Legend dir. by Ridley Scott
2. The Cell dir. by Tarsem Singh
   
3. Candyman dir. by Bernard Rose
   
4. Hellbound: Hellraiser II dir. by Tony Randel
   
5. Nightbreed dir. by Clive Barker
   
6. Baskin dir. by Can Evrenol
   
7. The Lords of Salem dir. by Rob Zombie
   
8. The Sisterhood of Night dir. by Caryn Waechter
   
9. Cat People dir. by Paul Schrader

Okay, maybe call it Φρίκῃ since I included a couple Dark Fantasies as well as conventional Horror, but as you can see they all contain strong Bacchic themes and symbolism (and some even have a touch of Orphism about them.) There are so many others I could have included but I was trying for a particular note. If you prefer your entertainment more episodic I’d recommend Hannibal or Legion. (And if you’re looking for something a little more elevated, consider Galina’s On Prayer and Pain.) 

What are your favorite Horror movies, Dionysian or otherwise?

Our household/monastery has been experimenting with different ritual styles, altered states, and magical techniques and this year I was chosen to lead our Halloween observance — or as I call it Καταχθόνια, which honors Those Below from October 30th to November 1st.

Day 1: Earlier in the day we dig a trench or pit in the backyard, inaugurating the Katachthonia. Around 9:00pm we hold a feast for the Gods and Spirits of the underworld and afterlife. We make name tags or placeholders for all of the ones we wish to invite, lay out a full meal, and then eat in their presence while listening to thematic music. Unlike a traditional dumb supper we can have appropriately themed conversation. We should dress up as we would for a formal dinner.

Day 2: We paint our faces. Around 9:00pm we go outside and place offerings for the dead in the trench or pit: eggs, garlic, beans, grain, etc. and then over it we pour milk, wine, mead and olive oil. Then we sit on the benches and pass the horn, saying the name of one of our honored dead followed by, “may they never thirst.” Then drink or kiss the horn to their memory. If we want to tell brief anecdotes about them we can, but emphasis on brief as we’ve got a lot of dead folk to cover. This is only for individuals, not our various collectives. End with a toast to everyone we love, in case someone’s left out. And invite the wandering dead and the forgotten ones to partake as well. Before and after we can watch scary movies to get in the mood.

Day 3: We make a panspermia (or as the Orthodox call it koliva) and set it out along with salt, bread and vodka per Slavic custom beside an empty bowl. Then we take turns naming either a hero or collective, and dropping a bean into the bowl. (It would be cool to do this with pomegranate seeds, but I don’t think they are in season. Pennies would also make a fine substitute.) If we are so moved we can tell a story about them, or share why they are being honored. When we are finished each of us will then share a piece of art for the enjoyment of all. We will end by carrying the offerings outside and adding them to the trench or pit, and covering it back over or tossing in three handfuls of earth.

Katachthonia is officially declared to be over, with a promise to honor Those Below again next year and keep their memory alive within us every day.

What are you doing for your dead this year?

I have tried to use a wide array of titles and bynames for Dionysos in these prayers and incantations. If there are any that you aren’t familiar with, check the list over at Bakcheion.

O Dionysos Dreilos, as you once distracted
Oineus, King over the Kalydonians, with your
miraculous vine so that he would absent
himself from his home and leave his lovely
Althaia safe in your hands, I ask that you place a
hedge of protection around NN and myself
as we prepare to participate in the mysteries of
golden Aphroditē; may there be no interruption
from humans; may no spiritual entities have
the power to intrude into this space, or fill our minds
with worry, random stresses of the day,
shame and anxiety, or deeply buried wounds
from long ago; may pollution, infirmities,
or other distractions not find their way through;
let only desire, enjoyment, connection, ecstasy,
and the other sweet handmaids of Kypris in,
O Dionysos Choiropsalas; and guide us, Orthos,
up the mountain to heights of sensation
and experience that we could scarcely dream of,
let alone attain on our own; and we shall thank you
with a proper libation when we have had our fill,
jointly offered, O Dionysos Olbiodōtes.