They say that Kadmos, dragon-slayer,
when he saw his daughter’s womb swell with divine fruit,
believed her not and locked her away in a tower
with only a loom to pass the hours.
She wove her coiled seduction by the Thunderer
and her Grandmother’s story as well,
Europa who was carried across the ocean
on the back of a beautiful white bull.
And when the eighth month came Semele was visited by
the Theban Lord’s adopted son, Echion,
her brother-in-law. The man
was born of serpent’s teeth and bloodshed,
quick to rage and always ready with venomous remarks.
He was ashamed of her slatternly ways,
and the odium it had brought on the whole family.
And so with Tyrian ire and to regain lost honor
he struck her,
spat on her,
cursed her
and finally kicked her in the belly.
Then, disdainfully, he left her
to a night of agony
as she birthed her son more than a month prematurely.
When her father found her the following morn
she was covered in blood and cradling the crying infant.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” she asked, shivering.
“I’ve named him Dionysos, since he is from Zeus
and will surely limp after what that snake did to him.”
Horrified, Kadmos had his men scoop them up,
dump them in a wooden chest emblazoned with a sonnenrad,
and drop it into the river.
The chest floated out to sea,
and thence to cape Malea,
where it was caught in the nets of some Satyrs.
They dragged it ashore and found the corpse of Semele,
several days gone, and her poor child still alive.
They snatched him up and rushed him
to the buxom Nymphs of Mount Taygetos
who nursed the hornéd babe back to health
like parched earth refreshed by the rain.
Together the two tribes raised him to manhood.
Eventually he grew tired of that idyllic setting
and wandered off to hunt fortune and adventure in foreign lands.
The Satyrs went out in search of him,
and eventually ended up on the Trinacrian beach
and bondsmen of the tyrant Polyphemos
as well as his brothers, the malformed
incestuous get of Poseidon.
Worse than all the lowly, dirty chores
those poor Satyrs were forced to perform
was the fact that the island had no wine;
not a drop throughout all three corners.
But then an Ithakan,
looking like a drowned rat,
floated up, clinging to a an amphora like a raft.
Over a goatskin of wine
– ambrosially sweet from long absence –
the Satyrs spilled the beans,
sharing all they knew of their master and his ways
to the immigrant terrorist.
Then the nobody was off to meet
the trumpeting One-Eyed King.
The Satyrs didn’t care,
because they had wine again.

As he fades in and out of consciousness,
he glances up into her
eyes like pools, frigid and depthless,
her face large, dark, pocked
with crude cut features,
nose like flint daggerhead,
cheeks like the rounded cap
of a mountain skirted by evergreens,
unsmiling lips, flat and thin,
teeth like limestone
and stalactite-like chin.
Her hair hangs down in coiled dreadlocks,
she wears dozens of trinkets on leather thongs
made of bones and bark
and shiny baubles that once adorned trees,
all round her bull-broad neck,
and a gown of motley patches stitched on
in yellow, greens and brown.
Behind her there is a roaring fire
and shadowy men with antlered masks
carrying spears and shields
and dancing warrior dances
to thunderous drums and pipes.
Noticing that he was once more lucid,
she grins a rare grin and whispers,
“You’ve come back to me, little goat.”

When first he came,
there were seabirds circling overhead
and a chorus of frogs in the bushes,
evergreens and fields of flowers.
But it has been a long journey,
deep in the swamp.
Now he is alone,
hurt, exhausted, and thirsty,
with muck up to his knees
and a tenuous grasp on reality.
However far he’s come
he’s that much further to go,
and the whole thing’s hopeless bleak.
He can’t even remember why he began this trek,
what mission he was trying to complete.
Only despair and emptiness are in his heart,
the Godly part of him died long ago.
Only the monster remains,
and this endless, futile wandering
in blind, uncaring and boundless night,
with no way out, not even death.

 

Physkoa sat opposite her God
wearing a gown of pure white linen,
a black belt round her curvy hips
and a red blindfold covering her wide, cowlike eyes.
He cupped a bowl of wine in his hands,
and tenderly held it to her lips. “Drink, my beloved.”
She drank.
Next he put some juicy grapes between her sharp teeth
and whispered, “Eat.”
She ate,
as serpentine Kissokemes stirred within her breast.
He took her by the hand,
and placed it on the sheet before her.
The sheet had been dyed,
swaths of three colors meeting at the center
in the shape of a dancing triskelion.
Upon the sheet were apples of gold,
a goat’s knucklebones, a bronze mirror, a doll,
a bullroarer and other such trinkets.
“Take,” he commanded, less a lover
than a Lord now. “Take, and I shall make
you the first of womankind
to serve me as my priestess.”
And she drew forth the unquiet clackers,
Krotala who purify and heal with sound.
And she wears the spotted fawnskin
and sacred ivy-crown in Dionysos’ honor to this day.

“The cracks are how the light gets through.”

His long fingers stroked the delicate threading,
like a lover or a brother tracing the sharp line of a cheek,
preserving the memory of it for future days.

“Are you saying I’m cracked?”

“Never, my headstrong Arachne,” the dance-loving one laughed,
loving the fire that flashed in her night-dark eyes.
“I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing!”

“You’d better not!” she scowled, scrunching up her nose,
as she flung some unfinished fleece at him
which he proceeded to tear with his panther-nimble fingers.

Then without warning a sopping, sandy black hound came
trundling through the daughter of Perse’s white door,
murex goo dripping from its great slathering yellow maw,
barking furiously about what had washed up on the beach.

Arachne shot a sudden fearful glance to her red companion
and asked, “Where’s Kloster?”

Dionysos rests his soft hand
on the large black wheel
of the ox-drawn carriage
Ikarios has packed full
of pine-pitch smeared kegs of fresh wine
which miraculously sprang up outside his home.

When the stranger arrived at his door
kindly Ikarios received him graciously.
He invited him to sit in the best seat,
and gave him cow’s milk to drink,
the very best the old oxherd had,
and ordered his daughter to whip up a feast
fit for a King from the East.
He shushed her when she pleaded their poverty;
“This man is no man. Can’t you see?
Give him all we have, and then some more.”

Erigone rolled her eyes, but obeyed her dear father’s order,
for she was a pious and submissive girl
(on the surface at least)
making a porridge of all the seed
and all the grain their bare cupboard contained.
She mixed in honey
and kernels of a pomegranate she’d been saving
for Her who is Below,
which stood out like ruby drops of blood in the mush.

Dionysos’ gaze did not leave her,
all through dinner and after.
Modesty blossomed in her cheeks,
painting them a becoming blush.
This just made Dionysos stare harder,
and then he smiled. He turned to Ikarios and said,
“I have a gift for you, good sir; something I think
this precious fruit of yours will especially enjoy.”

Curious Ikarios rose and went outdoors,
finding by the family’s well a giant grapevine,
snaky tendrils and plump bunches hanging down
all gleaming in the dark.
It was a thing of wonder to behold,
like no tree the man had ever seen before.

He fondled the golden grapes,
then squeezed one between his aged fingers.
Juice splashed him in the eye,
and the thing in the well let loose tittering laughter.

It stretched a spindly arm forth,
flesh moon-pale and hanging wetly from the bone,
as it offered him a cup full of a liquid dark as blood.
“Drink me,” the strange brew whispered to Ikarios,
“for you are parched with thirst, and perishing.”

“Are you sure that you’re ready for this, faithful father?” Dionysos asks
as Ikarios adjusts his foxskin cap so the sun won’t scorch his bald pate red.

“I shall share your gifts far and wide
with all my fellow man, for everyone deserves
to drink the liquor of ecstasy.”

“Teach them moderation, for not all can endure the thunderstrike unscathed.”

But Ikarios is gone already, and does not hear him.

Dionysos turns back and joins dark-eyed and dark-haired Erigone
for the few hours she has left.

Some folks are complaining because I periodically scrub the content from my blog, particularly when I am about to start a new creative project. Contrary to their assertions I am not trying to hide anything, because 1) I am not a coward. Further, I stand by everything I have ever said even if I have completely changed my opinion on the matter. It is what I believed at the time or I would not have said it; this I neither deny nor feel the need to limit myself to, especially when I am constantly engaged in transforming my consciousness through drugs, art, ritual, meditation, austerities and indulgence, intentionally induced temporary insanity, etc. I have been so many people since I woke this morning, why on Earth would you assume I think the same things I did a decade ago? (Let alone remember them.) Nothing stands still. Everything dances, as Herakleitos averred. And 2) one of the cardinal rules of the internet is that anything posted to the internet will forever remain on the internet. My entire blog history is available through either the Wayback Machine or the site’s RSS feed. I am currently looking through some posts circa 2014 to trace back a thread that is only now emerging in my spiritual practice. Then why do I delete content? It is a clever mind-hack I picked up during my Zen Buddhist days. With no past to draw on, you have only this moment and all it contains to express, thus ensuring you produce the most authentic art. But go ahead and attribute malice to every little thing I do; better yet, state you are the reason I do it. That will not make you look vain and stupid, at all. I mean, it is not like I have been doing this over my entire career or anything. And you are, what? The pesky mosquito of the day? I swish you away with my horse hair whip, and go back to my studies. 

Talking with a friend, I said the following:

I saw it Monday, and we had the theater to ourselves. Every part of this movie is perfection – the direction, the cinematography, the music, and especially the acting. It’s a bleak, difficult to watch movie because of its accurate portrayal of mental illness and the general nastiness of humanity, but Joaquin’s performance alone is worth the admission. I’ve never seen so much communicated through so simple a gesture or glance. His pre-Joker clowning draws heavily on Charlie Chaplin, Marcel Marceau, Lindsay Kemp, etc. and when he finally transforms into the Joker it’s creaturey, androgynous and sublime. Don’t believe the hype – this movie fiercely resists being pigeonholed into the service of any ideology or political movement though everyone – inside the movie and out of it – attempts to do so anyway. Its only message is this is what a world without compassion looks like. Treat each other better.

According to WordPress, as of today I’ve been blogging here at the House of Vines for a full decade. (Which means Nysa Press is almost as old.) I was at Livejournal for a number of years before that (until the Russians scared everyone off) and previously maintained websites at Winterscapes, Bravenet, Angelfire and AOL. Before that there were the e-mail lists where I first met and started talking with other Hellenic polytheists, which eventually got absorbed by Yahoo Groups and then were largely killed off by Web 2.0 and social media. Prior to that I’d get out of junior high and hike over to my mom’s school, signing on via dial-up in the empty science lab next door while she taught art and history night classes to a bunch of juvenile delinquents. I spent my time looking up poetry and fanfic archives, which I printed out and later read at home while listening to Moby and Joy Division. Back then my greatest ambition was to finish my novel about a tragic werewolf shaman who was part of a mercenary team called the Riders on the Storm. Later I even dropped out of college to work on it, but it never got past 220 pages, most of which consisted of artsy monologues, extremely graphic sex and battle scenes, and long, random digressions on the political, cultural and religious institutions of the various populations I’d filled my world with. (I even invented a couple languages for them.) Before that Karl Edward Wagner, Robert E. Howard, Chris Claremont and Allen Ginsberg made me dream of one day becoming a writer myself. But it all began with my mother, reading me stories (everything from The Blackboard Bear to Dracula) and creating her own books for me, which she hand-wrote and illustrated, such as The Dragon Energy Powered Farm (about a single mom facing foreclosure until her son finds an egg which turns everything around; it was picked up and published by a small feminist press, though I haven’t been able to track down a copy) and The Monkey Did It (about my imaginary friend, Monkey, whom I blamed all my shenanigans on.)

The Martyrs are the Stars of Ariadne’s Crown. 

Day I. To Ariadne, Sleeping Beauty

Hail to you bull–betrothed Maiden of Knossos,
Ariadne the Sleeping Beauty who was coaxed back to life
when her green Master lifted the noose
from her oddly–angled neck
soft as a dove’s breast,
and filled her limbs with warm, moist, divine breath.
Her eyes opened like stars exploding in the heavens
and she rose to her feet
and danced herself into Thyiadic frenzy;
an ecstatic she roamed the woods at night,
hungry for flesh and for wine—
hail the Queen Bee, the Serpent Mother,
Leader of the Revels of the shaggy Goat Men’s chorus,
Ariadne the Chief Bacchant.

Day II. To Ariadne Frenzystirrer

I sing the praises of the Kore of Knossos,
the bare–breasted Queen who never let the bull go hungry,
whose dancing–ground winds round
like the web of a spider dangling from a tree,
her lips sweet with honey of frenzied bees,
slender hands familiar with the soft flesh of serpents
and the taut hide of a drum pounded in ecstasy
while the flames leap and thunder rumbles
in the distance. Ariadne who went mad on the island,
with only herself to keep her company.
Ariadne whom Dionysos loves above all others,
weird reflection of his wounded heart.

Day III. To Ariadne the Weaver

Hail Ariadne of the Red Thread,
Maiden wise and remorseful,
you who know the ecstasy
of the grape’s seduction
and unbearable grief at the loss
of your homeland and family.
Hail Ariadne of the Black Thread,
you who make your home
beneath the earth with the Dead
and climb the Tree to the high heavens
to speak with the blessed Immortals.
Proud in your sacred craft,
O Ariadne of the White Thread,
teller of the stories of the forgotten and despised,
keeper of the mysteries of holiness,
leader of the dance that brings release,
reader and spinner of the Golden Threads of Fate,
you who carry the Dead on your back
like a sac of eggs, so that they may rise up
and join us in the Feast of Flowers,
receiving their rightful share of the sacrifice
as you mate with the Bull King in the holy Ox-Shed.
Hail Ariadne, Mistress of the weblike Maze,
wearer of many Masks, hail and hail again
our Goddess of Sex, Death and Insanity, Starry Ariadne!

Day IV. To Ariadne the Mistress of the Labyrinth

For the Mistress of the Labyrinth, Honey

Hail to you radiant Ariadne, daughter of proud Minos
who sits in lordly judgment of those beneath the earth;
mad–eyed, serpent–hipped, hair swaying
like the white–capped waves that wash the sandy shores of Naxos
as your agile feet lead the Nymph–ridden Bacchants
in a wild dance through the hunting grounds of the Godly Bull,
fruit of an unspeakable union with a mortal Queen.
You whose fiery crown of ancestral Spirits shines
in the gloom of heaven, bride of freedom’s God,
and always by his side—hail Ariadne!

Day V. To Ariadne the Goddess of the Masque

Raise a glass in honor of the Mistress of the Feast
wine–loving and frenzied Goddess of wet grace
who revels with Nymphs in river–fed grottoes,
whose dancing feet excite the pulse of life in all creation,
who leads the wild beasts as they roam through primordial forests,
who laughs in the darkness and can bring to completion
with just a smile. Heart–render, tomb–haunter, hunger and fire
and the fathomless depths of the sea, maenadic Aphrodite
who wields the scourge of the mysteries, hail to thee Cyprian Ariadne
mortal of far-surpassing beauty who washed ashore a Goddess,
the fiery-crowned wife of Dionysos of Naxos.

Day VI. To Ariadne, Dancing Queen

Call to mind, O all–holy Ariadne,
my prayers and offerings of the past,
as you remembered the way out
of the winding passages of the Labyrinth.
You, crowned with stars and holding the thread of fate in your hand,
a hand that has wielded the ceremonial double axe,
sharp for cutting the throats of bulls so that the fields will be fruitful
and there will be wine and flowers to scatter on the altars of the Gods.
Queen of love and death, Mistress of the swarm
who delights in golden honey
and the Crane Dance and the serpents who know
the way down beneath the earth and how to rise up again.
Hail Ariadne, fulfilled on Naxos and leader of the maniac Hunters,
receive this bounty and cause to prosper
the house that honors you properly.

Day VII. To Ariadne, Granddaughter of the Sun

Ariadne whose tender feet know the dance
of those who desire the ecstatic embrace of the Deliverer
who comes from afar, wearing an unfamiliar face
and bearing unexpected gifts, gifts that tear open the heart
and free the mind of the shackles of past conditioning
so that one can kneel trembling in the presence of the holy Beloved.
Hear my prayers and help me to become a better vessel
for the pouring out of offerings that enrich
the land and the house that receives all
Gods who wander in the guise of suppliants.
As every act of yours was an act of devotion
—even the act of swinging from the Tree for the sins of your line—
never let me falter or lose sight of what and who I am devoted to.

 

Hail Ariadne Antheia!

I suppose you could substitute Greek for the supper, but why would you when Italian is obviously far superior? 

I’m just having fun with some triggered YSEEs on Twitter. Both cuisines are yummy, and truthfully you can offer the Martyrs anything that feels right. The important part is sharing a meal with our honored dead, and reflecting on their lives and sacrifices. Something you can do regardless of your race. 

Gardzienice, Euoi Bakchai
https://youtu.be/KR_SCOxWmas

Ancient Roman Music, Synaulia I
https://youtu.be/uJLXyBzMci0

Ancient Roman Music, Synaulia II
https://youtu.be/13_kRntszO4

Spaccanapoli, Vesuvio
https://youtu.be/zK8JI9wy05E

Music from Southern Italy recorded by Alan Lomax, Ballo del tamburo
https://youtu.be/Z3Qcb81iH_U

Music from Southern Italy recorded by Alan Lomax, La Pampanella
https://youtu.be/DSVnmz0MxSs

Johnny Cash, Redemption
https://youtu.be/4LCBl_IMEEU

V for Vendetta dir. James McTeigue
and
Fellini Satyricon
and
The Last Shift dir. Anthony DiBlasi

Make a proper Italian feast and set a place for them. It doesn’t matter if it’s modern Italian dishes they never would have eaten – it just has to be Italian. Listen to Italian music or watch an Italian movie or play Italian games. Eat, drink, dance and have a good time with them. When you are finished, perform divination to see if there’s anything further they would like. 

 Alternately you may offer them some of your blood, since they shed their blood in defense of the Bacchic mysteries. Ask them to drink deep and draw nourishment from you, as you drink in their ecstasy and are fed by their experiences and example.

#bacchiclivesmatter

Clifford Ando, The Rites of Others
https://www.academia.edu/24715885/The_rites_of_others

Fiachra Mac Góráin, Virgil’s Bacchus and the Roman Republic
https://www.academia.edu/5685254/Virgils_Bacchus_and_the_Roman_Republic

Heather Moser, Silencing the Revelry: An Examination of the Moral Panic in 186 BCE and the Political Implications Accompanying the Persecution of the Bacchic Cult in the Roman Republic
https://www.academia.edu/20294994/Silencing_the_Revelry_An_Examination_of_the_Moral_Panic_in_186_BCE_and_the_Political_Implications_Accompanying_the_Persecution_of_the_Bacchic_Cult_in_the_Roman_Republic

Matthias Riedl, The Containment of Dionysos: Religion and Politics in the Bacchanalia Affair of 186 BCE
https://www.academia.edu/3857570/The_Containment_of_Dionysos_Religion_and_Politics_in_the_Bacchanalia_Affair_of_186_BCE

Akoites

‘All round the ship they leapt in showers of splashing spray. Time after time they surfaced and fell back into the sea, playing like dancers, frolicking about in fun, wide nostrils taking in the sea to flow it out again. Of the whole twenty (that was the crew she carried) I alone remained. As I stood trembling, cold with fear, almost out of my wits, the god spoke words of comfort: “Cast your fear aside. Sail on to Dia.” ‘Landing there, I joined his cult and am now a faithful follower of Bacchus.’ ‘We’ve listened to this rigmarole,’ said Pentheus, ‘To give our anger time to lose its force. Away with him, you slaves! Rush him away! Rack him with fiendish tortures till he dies and send him down to the black night of Stygia.’ So there and then Acoetes was hauled off and locked in a strong cell. (Ovid, Metamorphoses 3.572)

The Bakchai of Southern Italy

But so great were the numbers that fled from the city, that because the lawsuits and property of many persons were going to ruin, the praetors, Titus Maenius and Marcus Licinius, were obliged, under the direction of the senate, to adjourn their courts for thirty days, until the inquiries should be finished by the consuls. The same deserted state of the law-courts, since the persons, against whom charges were brought, did not appear to answer, nor could be found in Rome, necessitated the consuls to make a circuit of the country towns, and there to make their inquisitions and hold the trials. Those who, as it appeared, had been only initiated, and had made after the priest, and in the most solemn form, the prescribed imprecations, in which the accursed conspiracy for the perpetration of every crime and lust was contained, but who had not themselves committed, or compelled others to commit, any of those acts to which they were bound by the oath—all such they left in prison. But those who had forcibly committed personal defilements or murders, or were stained with the guilt of false evidence, counterfeit seals, forged wills, or other frauds, all these they punished with death. A greater number were executed than thrown into prison; indeed, the multitude of men and women who suffered in both ways, was very considerable. The consuls delivered the women, who were condemned, to their relations, or to those under whose guardianship they were, that they might inflict the punishment in private; if there did not appear any proper person of the kind to execute the sentence, the punishment was inflicted in public. A charge was then given to demolish all the places where the Bacchanalians had held their meetings; first in Rome, and then throughout all Italy; excepting those wherein should be found some ancient altar or consecrated statue. With regard to the future, the senate passed a decree, “that no Bacchanalian rites should be celebrated in Rome or in Italy;” and ordering that, “in case any person should believe some such kind of worship incumbent upon him, and necessary; and that he could not, without offence to religion, and incurring guilt, omit it, he should represent this to the city praetor, and the praetor should lay the business before the senate. If permission were granted by the senate, when not less than one hundred members were present, then he might perform those rites, provided that no more than five persons should be present at the sacrifice, and that they should have no common stock of money, nor any president of the ceremonies, nor priest.” (Livy, History of Rome 34.18)

Chorea

This tomb they say belongs to the maenad Chorea. She was one of the women who joined Dionysos in his expedition against Argos, and Perseus, being victorious in the battle, put most of the women to the sword. To the rest they gave a common grave, but to Chorea they gave burial apart because of her high rank. (Pausanias, Description of Greece 2.20.4)

The Comedian

One day, when public games were being celebrated and the theatre was filled with Roman spectators, they slew a comedian who expressed annoyance on the stage, on the pretext that he had not properly fulfilled his role. The whole theatre was filled with disorder and terror, when fortune brought onto the scene a satirical character appropriate to the circumstances. His name was Sannio, and he was of Latin origin. He was a very clever clown, who excited laughter not only by his words, but even when he was silent by the different poses of his body; there was something appealing about him, so that he enjoyed a high reputation in the theatres of Rome. The Picentines, wishing to deprive the Romans of the entertainment given by this humorous actor, determined to kill him. Sannio, informed of the fate that awaited him, stepped onto the stage where the comedian had just been murdered, and, addressing the audience, he said, “My spectators, the omens are favourable! May this evil turn into good fortune! I’m not a Roman, and I’m subject to the fasces just like you. I travel throughout Italy, searching for favours by making people laugh and giving pleasure. So spare the swallow, which the gods allow to nest safely in all your houses, for it is not fair to do anything that would make you upset.” The jester continued to speak with many other humorous remarks that amused them, and so by appeasing the crowd he freed himself from danger. (Diodoros Sikeliotes, Library of History 37.12)

Dirke

Amphion and Zethos put Dirce to death by binding her to an untamed bull; by the kindness of Liber, whose votary she was, on Mount Cithaeron a spring was formed from her body, which was called Dirce. (Hyginus, Fabulae 7)

Erigone

Icarius’ dog returned to his daughter, Erigone; she followed his tracks and, when she found her father’s corpse, she ended her life with a noose. Through the mercy of the gods she was restored to life again among the constellations; men call her Virgo. That dog was also placed among the stars. But after some time such a sickness was sent upon the Athenians that their maidens were driven by a certain madness to hang themselves. The oracle responded that this pestilence could be stopped if the corpses of Erigone and Icarius were sought again. These were found nowhere after being sought for a long time. Then, to show their devotedness, and to appear to seek them in another element, the Athenians hung rope from trees. Holding on to this rope, the men were tossed here and there so that they seemed to seek the corpses in the air. But since most were falling from the trees, they decided to make shapes in the likeness of their own faces and hang these in place of themselves. Hence, little masks are called oscilla because in them faces oscillate, that is, move. (The First Vatican Mythographer 19)

The Haliai

Before the temple of Hera is a grave of women. They were killed in a battle against the Argives under Perseus, having come from the Aegean Islands to help Dionysos in war; for which reason they are surnamed the Women of the Sea. (Pausanias, Description of Greece 2.22.1)

Ikarios

When Father Liber went out to visit men in order to demonstrate the sweetness and pleasantness of his fruit, he came to the generous hospitality of Icarius and Erigone. To them he gave a skin full of wine as a gift and bade them spread the use of it in all the other lands. Loading a wagon, Icarius with his daughter Erigone and a dog Maera came to shepherds in the land of Attica, and showed them the kind of sweetness wine had. The shepherds, made drunk by drinking immoderately, collapsed, and thinking that Icarius had given them some bad medicine, killed him with clubs. (Hyginus, Fabulae 130) When Father Liber went out to visit men in order to demonstrate the sweetness and pleasantness of his fruit, he came to the generous hospitality of Icarius and Erigone. To them he gave a skin full of wine as a gift and bade them spread the use of it in all the other lands. Loading a wagon, Icarius with his daughter Erigone and a dog Maera came to shepherds in the land of Attica, and showed them the kind of sweetness wine had. The shepherds, made drunk by drinking immoderately, collapsed, and thinking that Icarius had given them some bad medicine, killed him with clubs. (Hyginus, Fabulae 130)

Ino and Melikertes

At the proper time Zeus loosened the stitches and gave birth to Dionysos, whom he entrusted to Hermes. Hermes took him to Ino and Athamas, and persuaded them to bring him up as a girl. Incensed, Hera inflicted madness on them, that Athamas stalked and slew his elder son Learchos on the conviction that he was a dear, while Ino threw Melikertes into a basin of boiling water, and then, carrying both the basin and the corpse of the boy, she jumped to the bottom of the sea. Now she is called Leukothea, and her son is Palaimon: these names they receive from those who sail, for they help sailors beset by storms. Also, the Isthmian games were established by Sisyphos in honor of Melikertes. (Apollodoros, Bibliotheca 3.26-29)

Isidoros

And those called the Boukoloi created a revolt in Egypt and joined with the other Egyptians led by the priest Isidoros. First, in the cloaks of women, they tricked the centurion since they appeared to be the women of the Boukoloi approaching to give him money for their men, and they struck him down. His companion they sacrificed swearing an oath on his entrails and then eating them. Of these men Isidoros was the bravest. Then, when they defeated the Romans in battle, they advanced towards Alexandria and would have reached there had not Cassius been sent against them from Syria and contrived to upset their unity and divide them from each other, for they were too many and too desperate for him to dare to come against them all together. And so he subdued them when they grew divided. (Cassius Dio, Roman History LXXII 4)

The Jews of Ptolemais and the neighboring Greek cities

At the monthly celebration of the King’s birthday people were driven by harsh compulsion to partake of the sacrifices, and when a festival of Dionysos was celebrated, they were forced to wear ivy wreaths and walk in the Dionysiac procession. At the suggestion of the people of Ptolemais a decree was issued to the neighbouring Greek cities, enforcing the same conduct on the Jews there, obliging them to share in the sacrificial meals, and ordering the execution of those who did not choose to conform to Greek customs. (2Maccabees 6)

John

About this time, in Easter week, the parish priest of Inverkeithing, named John, revived the profane rites of Priapus, collecting young girls from the villages, and compelling them to dance in circles to the honour of Father Bacchus. When he had these females in a troop, out of sheer wantonness, he led the dance, carrying in front on a pole a representation of the human organs of reproduction, and singing and dancing himself like a mime, he viewed them all and stirred them to lust by filthy language. Those who held respectable matrimony in honour were scandalised by such a shameless performance, although they respected the parson because of the dignity of his rank. If anybody remonstrated kindly with him, the priest became worse than before, violently reviling him. [Note: he was murdered by a Christian mob but I for some reason didn’t bother to transcribe that bit] (The Chronicle of Lanercost for the year 1282)

Kadmos and Tieresias

Pentheus: One of you, go quickly to where this man, Tiresias, has that seat of his, the place where he inspects his birds. Take some levers, knock it down. Demolish it completely. Turn the whole place upside down—all of it. Let his holy ribbons fly off in the winds. That way I’ll really do him damage. You others—go to the city, scour it to capture this effeminate stranger, who corrupts our women with a new disease, and thus infects our beds. If you get him, tie him up and bring him here for judgment, a death by stoning. That way he’ll see his rites in Thebes come to a bitter end. (Euripides, The Bakchai 345-356)

Koronis

Since we have set forth the facts concerning Samothrace, we shall now, in accordance with our plan, discuss Naxos. This island was first called Strongylê and its first settlers were men from Thrace, the reasons for their coming being somewhat as follows. The myth relates that two sons, Butes and Lykourgos, were born to Boreas, but not by the same mother; and Butes, who was the younger, formed a plot against his brother, and on being discovered was driven out to seek another land in which to make his home. Consequently Butes, together with the Thracians who were implicated with him, set forth, and making his way through the islands of the Cyclades he seized the island of Strongylê, where he made his home and proceeded to plunder many of those who sailed past the island. And since they had no women they sailed here and there and seized them from the land. Having been repulsed once from Euboea, they sailed to Thessaly, where Butes and his companions, upon landing, came upon the female devotees of Dionysos as they were celebrating the orgies of the god near Drius, as it is called, in Achaea Phthiotis. As Butes and his companions rushed at the women, these threw away the sacred objects, and some of them fled for safety to the sea, and others to the mountain called Dius; but Koronis, the myth continues, was seized by Butes and forced to lie with him. And she, in anger at the seizure and at the insolent treatment she had received, called upon Dionysos to lend her his aid. And the god struck Butes with madness, because of which he threw himself into a well and met his death. (Diodoros Sikeliotes, Library of History 5.50.1-5)

Martino and Pietro

Asked why the said synagogue is held, he replies that it derives from the fact that they as a custom were in the habit of adoring a certain idol called Bacchus and Baron and also the Sibyl and the Fairies and that Baron and the Fairies were accustomed to holding congregations during which there was no respect between daughter and father, nor with the godmother, as there is, however, outside the said synagogue. And in the synagogue, by night, when the candle was out, they mixed and each took the woman he could have, without recognising her and without speaking while the synagogue lasted; and if a son was begotten, he was the most appropriate and apt to exercise the office of barbe; and he said other things, that his companion had previously said. (Record of the interrogation of the barbes Martino and Pietro, 1492)

The Martyrs of Alexandria

About this period, the bishop of Alexandria, to whom the temple of Dionysos had, at his own request, been granted by the emperor, converted the edifice into a church. The statues were removed, the adyta were exposed; and, in order to cast contumely on the pagan mysteries, he made a procession for the display of these objects; the phalli, and whatever other object had been concealed in the adyta which really was, or seemed to be, ridiculous, he made a public exhibition of. The pagans, amazed at so unexpected an exposure, could not suffer it in silence, but conspired together to attack the Christians. They killed many of the Christians, wounded others, and seized the Serapion, a temple which was conspicuous for beauty and vastness and which was seated on an eminence. This they converted into a temporary citadel; and hither they conveyed many of the Christians, put them to the torture, and compelled them to offer sacrifice. Those who refused compliance were crucified, had both legs broken, or were put to death in some cruel manner. When the sedition had prevailed for some time, the rulers came and urged the people to remember the laws, to lay down their arms, and to give up the Serapion. There came then Romanos, the general of the military legions in Egpyt; and Evagrios was the prefect of Alexandria. As their efforts, however, to reduce the people to submission were utterly in vain, they made known what had transpired to the emperor. Those who had shut themselves up in the Serapion prepared a more spirited resistance, from fear of the punishment that they knew would await their audacious proceedings, and they were further instigated to revolt by the inflammatory discourses of a man named Olympios, attired in the garments of a philosopher, who told them that they ought to die rather than neglect the gods of their fathers. Perceiving that they were greatly dispirited by the destruction of the idolatrous statues, he assured them that such a circumstance did not warrant their renouncing their religion; for that the statues were composed of corruptible materials, and were mere pictures, and therefore would disappear; whereas, the powers which had dwelt within them, had flown to heaven. By such representations as these, he retained the multitude with him in the Serapion. (Hermias Sozomen, The Ecclesiastical History 7:15)

Medullina

When the Bacchanalian revels were being celebrated at Rome, Aruntius, who had been from birth a water-drinker, set at naught the power of the god. So much so that in a fit of drunkenness he violated his daughter Medullina to insult Liber. But she recognized from a ring his relationship and devised a plan wiser than her years; making her father drunk, and crowning him with garlands, she led him to the altar of Divine Lightning, and there, dissolved in tears, she slew the man who had plotted against her virginity. So Aristeides in the third book of his Italian History. (Plutarch, Greek and Roman Parallel Stories 19)

Thomas Morton

Thomas Morton and the Merry-mount colonists set up a May-pole, drinking and dancing about it many days together, inviting the Indian women for their consorts, dancing and frisking together like so many fairies, or furies rather and worse practices. As if they had anew revived & celebrated the feasts of ye Roman Goddess Flora, or ye beastly practices of ye mad Bacchanalians. (William Bradford, History Of Plymouth Plantation) The Plymouth Militia under Myles Standish took the town the following June with little resistance, chopped down the Maypole and arrested Morton for ‘supplying guns to the Indians’. He was put in stocks in Plymouth, given a trial and finally marooned on the deserted Isles of Shoals, off the coast of New Hampshire, until an ‘English ship could take him home’, apparently as he was believed too well connected to be imprisoned or executed (as later became the penalty for blasphemy in the colony). He was essentially starved on the island, but was supplied with food by friendly natives from the mainland, who were said to be bemused by the events, and he eventually gained enough strength to escape to England under his own volition. The Merry Mount community survived without Morton for another year, but was renamed Mount Dagon by the Puritans, after the Semitic Sea god, and they pledged to make it a place of woe. During the terrible winter famine of 1629 residents of New Salem under John Endecott raided Mount Dagon’s plentiful corn supplies and destroyed what was left of the Maypole, calling it the ‘Calf of Horeb’ and denouncing it as a pagan idol. Morton returned to the colony soon after and, after finding most of the inhabitants had been scattered, was rearrested, again put on trial and banished from the colonies. The following year the colony of Mount Dagon was burned to the ground and Morton shipped back to England. (Wikipedia s.v. Thomas Morton)

The Nurses

I will not fight against any god of the heaven, since even the son of Dryas, Lykourgos the powerful, did not live long; he who tried to fight with the gods of the bright sky, who once drove the fosterers of mainomenosDionysos headlong down the sacred Nyseian hill, and all of them shed and scattered their wands on the ground, stricken with an ox-goad by murderous Lykourgos, while Dionysos in terror dived into the salt surf, and Thetis took him to her bosom, frightened, with the strong shivers upon him at the man’s blustering. But the gods who live at their ease were angered with Lykourgos and the son of Kronos struck him to blindness, nor did he live long afterwards, since he was hated by all the immortals. (Homer, Iliad 6.129 ff)

The Oinotrophoi

My lord, most noble hero, you make no mistake. You saw me father of five children; now you see me almost childless, such is the fickleness of fate. For what help to me is my son far away on Andros isle where in his father’s stead he reigns? Delius gave him power of prophecy and Liber gave my girls gifts greater than their prayers, greater than belief. For at my daughters’ touch all things were turned to corn or wine or oil of Minerva’s tree. Rich was that role of theirs! When it was know to Atrides, plunderer of Troia … with force of arms he stole my girls, protesting, from their father’s arms and bade them victual with that gift divine the fleet of Greece. They fled, each as she could, two to Euboea, two to their brother’s isle, Andros. A force arrived and threatened war, were they not given up. Fear overcame his love and he gave up his kith and kin to punishment. And one could well forgive their frightened brother. Now fetters were made ready to secure the captured sisters’ arms: their arms still free the captives raised to heaven, crying “Help! Help, father Bacchus!” and the god who gave their gift brought help, if help it can be called in some strange way to lose one’s nature. How they lost it, that I never learnt, nor could I tell you now. The bitter end’s well known. With wings and feathers, birds your consort loves, my daughters were transformed to snow-white doves. (Ovid,Metamorphoses 13.631)

Lucius Opiturnius, Minius Cerrinius and Marcus and Caius Catinius

They then ordered the decrees of the senate to be read, and published a reward for any discoverer who should bring any of the guilty before them, or give information against any of the absent, adding, that if any person accused should fly, they would limit a certain day upon which, if he did not answer when summoned, he would be condemned in his absence; and if any one should be charged who was out of Italy, they would allow him a longer time, if he should wish to come and make his defense. They then issued an edict, that “no person whatever should presume to buy or sell anything for the purpose of leaving the country; or to receive or conceal, or by any means aid the fugitives.” On the assembly being dismissed, great terror spread throughout the city; nor was it confined merely within the walls, or to the Roman territory, for everywhere throughout the whole of Italy alarm began to be felt, when the letters from the guest-friends were received, concerning the decree of the senate, and what passed in the assembly, and the edict of the consuls. During the night, which succeeded the day in which the affair was made public, great numbers, attempting to fly, were seized, and brought back by the triumvirs, who had posted guards at all gates; and informations were lodged against many, some of whom, both men and women, put themselves to death. Above seven thousand men and women are said to have taken the oath of the association. But it appeared that the heads of the conspiracy were the two Catinii, Marcus and Caius, Roman plebeians; Lucius Opiturnius, a Faliscan; and Minius Cerrinius, a Campanian: that from these proceeded all their criminal practices, and that these were the chief priests and founders of the sect. Care was taken that they should be apprehended as soon as possible. They were brought before the consuls, and, confessing their guilt, caused no delay to the ends of justice. (Livy, History of Rome 34.17)

Orpheus

At the base of Olympus is the city of Dium, near which lies the village of Pimpleia. Here lived Orpheus, the Ciconian, it is said — a wizard who at first collected money from his music, together with his soothsaying and his celebration of the orgies connected with the mystic initiatory rites, but soon afterwards thought himself worthy of still greater things and procured for himself a throng of followers and power. Some, of course, received him willingly, but others, since they suspected a plot and violence, combined against him and killed him. And near here, also, is Leibethra.

Phryne

Phryne was accused of impiety because she held a komos in the Lykeion. This is what Euthias, who prosecuted her, said: I have now proven that Phryne is impious because she has participated in scandalous revelry, because she has introduced a new god [Dionysos Isodaites], and because she has assembled unlawful thiasoi of both men and women. (Works of the Attic Orators 2.320)

The Sicilians

The Greeks’ popular god Dionysius [sic], the patron of the theater and of merrymaking generally — known to the Romans as Bacchus — was transformed by the Byzantines into a demon. Bacchic feasting had characterized, particularly, the final days of the Sicilians’ grape harvest; the Byzantines tried to suppress the festival. Byzantine priests interfered with carnivals, which they considered licentious, and refused to baptize actors so as to hinder theatrical productions. But the populace paid little heed, risking anathema to attend the amusements. (Sandra Benjamin, Sicily: Three Thousand Years of Human History pages 122-23)

King Skyles

So when Skyles had been initiated into the Bacchic rite, some one of the Borysthenites scoffed at the Skythians, `You laugh at us, Skythians, because we play the Bacchant and the god possesses us; but now this deity has possessed your own king, so that he plays the Bacchant and is maddened by the god. If you will not believe me, follow me now and I will show him to you.’ The leading men among the Skythians followed him, and the Borysthenite brought them up secretly onto a tower; from which, when Skyles passed by with his company of worshipers, they saw him raving like a Bacchant; thinking it a great misfortune, they left the city and told the whole army what they had seen. After this Skyles rode off to his own place; but the Skythians rebelled against him. They put at their head Octamasadas, grandson (on the mother’s side) of Teres. Then Skyles, when he learned the danger with which he was threatened, and the reason of the disturbance, made his escape to Thrake. Octamasadas, discovering whither he had fled, marched after him, and had reached the Ister when he was met by the forces of the Thrakians. The two armies were about to engage, but before they joined battle, Sitalkes sent a message to Octamasadas to this effect, ‘Why should there be trial of arms betwixt thee and me? Thou art my own sister’s son, and thou hast in thy keeping my brother. Surrender him into my hands, and I will give thy Skyles back to thee. So neither thou nor I will risk our armies.’ Sitalkes sent this message to Octamasadas, by a herald, and Octamasadas, with whom a brother of Sitalkes had formerly taken refuge, accepted the terms. He surrendered his own uncle to Sitalkes, and obtained in exchange his brother Skyles. Sitalkes took his brother with him and withdrew; but Octamasadas beheaded Skyles upon the spot. Thus rigidly do the Skythians maintain their own customs, and thus severely do they punish such as adopt foreign usages. (Herodotos, The Histories 4.79)

Spartacus

The battle was long and bloody, as might have been expected with so many thousands of desperate men. Spartacus was wounded in the thigh with a spear and sank upon his knee, holding his shield in front of him and contending in this way against his assailants until he and the great mass of those with him were surrounded and slain. The Roman loss was about 1000. The body of Spartacus was not found. A large number of his men fled from the battle-field to the mountains and Crassus followed them thither. They divided themselves in four parts, and continued to fight until they all perished except 6000, who were captured and crucified along the whole road from Capua to Rome. (Appian, Civil Wars 1.120)

Spartacus’ Wife

It is said that when he was first brought to Rome to be sold, a serpent was seen coiled about his face as he slept, and his wife*, who was of the same tribe as Spartacus, a prophetess, and subject to visitations of the Dionysiac frenzy, declared it the sign of a great and formidable power which would attend him to a fortunate issue. This woman shared in his escape and was then living with him. (Plutarch, Life of Crassus 9.3)

* This amazing woman’s name has not come down to us through history. I considered using one of the names given to her by writers of fiction, such as Varinia or Sura. But somehow it seemed more fitting to remind people that along with her freedom her name had been stripped from her. Dionysos has restored both to her and she now revels with him and the other mystai, beyond the reach of hateful men.

The Tarentines

Once upon a time the citizens of Tarentum paid to the Romans the penalty for this sort of jesting, seeing that, when drunk at the festival of Dionysos, they insulted the Roman ambassadors. (Julian, Misopogon 355d) 

The Vignerons

The so-called Kalends, and what are called Bota and Brumalia, and the full assembly which takes place on the first of March, we wish to be abolished from the life of the faithful. And also the public dances of women, which may do so much harm and mischief. Moreover we drive away from the life of Christians the dances given in the names of those falsely called gods by the Greeks whether of men or women, and which are preformed after an ancient and un-Christian fashion; decreeing that no man from this time forth shall be dressed as a woman, nor any woman in the garb suitable to men. Nor shall he assume comic, satyric, or tragic masks; nor may men invoke the name of the execrable Bacchus when they squeeze out the wine in the presses; nor when pouring out wine into jars [to cause a laugh], practicing in ignorance and vanity the things which proceed from the deceit of insanity. Therefore those who in the future attempt any of these things which are written, having obtained knowledge of them, if they be clerics we order them to be deposed, and if laymen to be cut off. (Canon 62 of The Council of Trullo, convened in 692)

#bacchiclivesmatter