More esoteric questions have been on my mind, as I look towards Anthesteria

If dreams can be just as vivid as life, what does that say about death? 

Is experience more important than memory? 

While planning for Anthesteria I was looking back at my first observation of the festival in 2011, where I had mentioned being grateful for having written down what I could of my experience of Khoës. I had totally forgotten the existence of these notes, so I went looking for them and found them. I had not only forgotten the notes themselves, but forgotten the details of the experience as well. I suppose at the time I had it in my head as the experience being too intimate or revealing for a public blog. But what the hell. Life is short, hopefully shorter for me. Lately I've been feeling like a circuit with too much input and no output. So I'm going to try to put out more. (Ha.) 

Khoës Night 2011: 

Dionysos mask. [Intoxication.] I called the god as my lover and husband. I made love to him. Madness and consciousness became a perception of space and proximity. Time slowed to nothing. Sex and death and madness were intertwined. But even as I thought of describing it that way as it happened, I knew that was a pale, pale description for what I was feeling. To say I made love with my death comes close to the feeling but it isn't complete either. I wept, not out of sadness but out of epiphany. In that space there was not "good" or "bad", "happiness" or "sorrow", there was just the knowledge in the vehicle of sensation, caressing my body. The vastness! Being my Self and being with the God in the Vastness was Truer. As I thought of my life, of A------, of my home and work and family, they all seemed so bizarre in their specifics and limitations. Sunbathing in the music. Narcissus in the mirror. Eyes reflecting silver, seeing my own beauty and the stranger within. Dancing, dancing, in and out of space. Tarot cards on the bed. Shuffling chaotically to the music. Queen of Swords flips first... Temperance is there. A King. The Hanged Man, last.

Lenaia 2014

So I had been chatting with a friend the day before the Lenaia, and mentioned working on some last minute preparations. She said something to the effect of being glad that it was work I was up to doing. It hadn't occurred to me in this context (as being optional) and I said so.  I was running a fever every day of the Anthesteria last year and I was still drinking, gathering flowers outside, trying to do devotional craft work, ritualizing, feasting, drinking more.  She said that was remarkable, but I told her, simply, that I love my god.  And like when you are in love with someone, it's never "enough" at any point, it's an ongoing process of expression and becoming. 

I've had friends and family commend me for doing things, in spite of my grief -- for attending concerts, going dancing, seeing plays, traveling, celebrating festivals -- and it's been a really difficult thing to verbalize a response to.  My emotional response might translate to a strangled yell of "how can I not??"  It's not easy, granted, but everything I love demands it. Dionysos demands it. My love for my husband demands it. But not in a demanding way, it's just... these are the things that hold me to this world, that create moments that make life worth it, that put me in touch with who I am and remind me of all that I love and have loved.  I have come across more than one unique complication of being a grieving Dionysian; that's one of them.  There is no luxury of disengagement.  

Onto the festival itself...  I love to see plays on the Lenaia; it seems particularly appropriate to this festival.  Although I didn't begin ritually until Monday, I went Sunday night to my favorite local theater, and it was a nice way to ease into the festival.  The play was "Take Me Out" performed by Nearly Naked Theatre.  I'm quite glad I saw it in spite of it being about baseball (I have no interest in sports whatsoever), but it was appropriate in other ways, with its themes of queerness and identity, not to mention a lot of male nudity. I didn't expect the actual showers of water to come falling from above the stage onto the actors during the shower scene -- pretty cool for such a small production!

In the interest of recording my success AND failures, I'll share that Sunday night I tried to get some confirmation via divination on how to proceed with the festival. I had certain activities and ideas in mind, but timing-wise, I wasn't sure about the order.  I tried a couple different decks, re-framed the questions a couple ways, but was unable to get any remotely clear answers. I even threw the dice a couple times to try and get something clearer... nope.  I'm decent at giving readings for friends, but I've never been particularly good at divining on my own behalf. I was still disappointed, as I had hoped a clear purpose and question would have yielded some hints.  I could think of 3 reasons that it didn't. 1) I suck. (Lack of skill or fumbled the session somehow.) 2) The god did not have a preference. 3)  The god wanted me to use my intuition instead.  Whatever the reason, I just went with my intuition and hoped for the best, which in the end seemed fine.

I ought to mention, too, that a few months ago I acquired a new phallos for Dionysos' shrine and ritual use.  The old one was clay, but I had been wanting to find a wood one for some time.  (I also want to hand-carve one of fig wood, but that will be a project for when I encounter a generous and suitable fig tree.)  This one I found on Etsy and knew it was perfect...  It is absolutely stunning. It's made from rowan wood found by the sea.  I have been anointing it and preparing it since before but especially during the Rural Dionysia.

Day 1:  

I felt drawn to honor Semele and the nymphs with more emphasis this year.  A major aspect of the Lenaia, for me, is about the love, reciprocity and mystery in the relationships that Dionysos has with women.  So the very first thing I did after setting up the festival altar was give an offering to Semele (benzoin incense), read her a hymn, and ask for her presence.  Then I made a mindful procession to a park a mile away, listening to Daemonia Nymphe the whole time, which definitely put me in an other-ish mindset.  For whatever reason I went to the park to the east instead of the west, which was a longer walk but had me walking towards the moon. When I got to the park I meditated for a bit, poured out milk and honey and burned incense for the nymphs, and read them a hymn.  The sun was setting while I was there.  Perhaps this liminal time added to the strange otherness I was feeling. In spite of the natural setting I had a hard time grounding myself.

Back at home, I prepared for the main ritual and bathed.  I rubbed myself with flying ointment, had some lotus tincture (which subtly intensifies and compliments the effects of wine). The ritual outline itself was very similar to last year's, but the tone was different this year. The raising of energy over the Liknon was more pronounced, more sensual. After the water and wine flowed, I stared longer into the mask... into the space beyond the mask, into the god's presence and non-presence.  I remember speaking to the mask, although I don't remember everything I said.  The music (like last year, on shuffle) was more bizarre, maybe less light-hearted, still meaningful -- it went hand in hand with the sort of emotional roller-coaster I went through staring into that mask.  There was an important message there that I experienced, although I'm not sure how much I can verbalize it.  (A poem, yes, a poem is needed.)  I danced.  I wept heart-wrenchingly one moment, smiled the next.  I danced more.  Later I jotted down, "absyrdity, absurdity, absurdity, life, life, life".

I feasted afterwards, in a daze of drunkenness and post-ritual giddiness, on a variety of locally made and grown foods.  I wound down by watching a comedy routine by Bo Burnham that Sannion recommended on his blog -- I recommend it as well!

Day 2:

The same club that I was lamenting had closed last Lenaia recently re-opened under new management and tentatively reinstated a similar, goth-friendly-themed night with my favorite local DJ.  So a night of devotional dancing was the main order of the evening.  I set my intention that it was all for Him, to stir and arouse Him.  The night was a blur, my body translating music to movement without thought.  If there were dance-floor epiphanies, I don't remember them.  I do remember a moment of gratitude in my abilities, in the time I had taken over the years to hone, through observation and practice, a style of dance that has become very ecstatic, that now flows very easily.  (She can't divine worth a quince, but she can dance at least!)

I almost feel sorry for the people who try to engage me in conversation when I take a breather. No, I'm not new to the scene.  No, I shall not remember your names or faces. I come not for the people. I come for the Dance. 

Day 3:

Where I live now, I don't have a natural, semi-wild place in walking distance like I used to.  (Oh river wash, I miss you.)  But I do live only about 10 miles away from the westernmost mountains in the valley, which are the White Tanks.  These are the mountains I can see from my bedroom window. 

It proved not very busy on a weekday, and it was not difficult to find a little-used trail and then a place not too far off the trail where I could sit in privacy.  I was surprised at how green things are getting already.  There is the barest carpet of grass that has started to come up on the desert floor, perhaps because we actually had several days of decent rain last month.  The only plants starting to bud any flowers were the jojoba bushes.  Otherwise, no hint yet of the riot of wildflowers we'll get in another month or two.

I nestled myself between a palo verde tree and a cozy mesquite tree with a lattice of branches arching to the ground.  I prepared for some impromptu ritual and more offerings.  My main intention was a challenge that had come to me suddenly, at some point during the festival -- to bring out the liknon basket and phallos from the indoor shrine to the outdoors, in view of the mountains, and to sing to it.  This was a challenge for me for several reasons.  I don't sing, and with the exception of dancing I'm not particularly off-the-cuff spontaneous.  But I did and I was, and if I remember the song I wouldn't tell because some things are best left to mystery.  Here are some pics I took afterwards walking back up the trail.

I am still, a week later, feeling a bit raw, still letting everything sink in.  I suspect the feeling will last through Anthesteria.  

My heart hurts. 

And yet.

The god I love still loves me.

I am full of doubts, because I am human. Yet in the midst of those moments when Dionysos comes there is no room for doubt. 

Here are some songs:  

The lyrics of this first one, especially, really got to me.

Anthesteria 2012

Here is my account and pictures of this year's Anthesteria.  I realize this is over a month late, but I'm posting it anyway mostly for my own record of things. 

Day 1: Pithoigia.  Our Anthesteria altar was even more lovely this year than it was last year.

And we had a lot of wonderful wine (though not quite enough, she notes for next year). Among them were 3 Greek wines.  Hermes Naoussa Red Dry Wine 2006, Agiorgitiko Erasmios Red Dry Wine 2007, and Dionysos Merlot 2009.  The others were ones I thought looked good, including a shiraz (Misterio 2010) that had a mask on the label.
 

After doing a simple ceremony to begin our Anthesteria celebration, we took a walk along the river wash, bringing with us wine and water.  Although it had been getting warmer in the prior weeks, the weather turned suddenly cold this particular day, as if winter was having one last hurrah.  Of course, "cold" is subjective for us desert-rats. It means a beautiful day where we could wear an extra layer outside.

There is something about taking a walk with an intent or spiritual purpose in mind.  It sharpens your senses and makes everything just a little bit shinier.  Or is that the wine?  Nahhh...  But I was amazed at just how much our little edge of the desert had changed - bursting into bloom and color - seemingly overnight!  Logically, I know this was not the case, I had just not been there recently to witness it, but it still seemed that way.  It was the epitome of spring in our little corner of the world.  Here are some pictures:

I could smell the orange blossoms, which is one of my favorite scents synonymous with spring.  We explored a creosote "grove" nearby, and were startled with the size of some of them.  Some of them are big Grandmother creosote, reaching over 12 feet high.  (Creosote or chaparral is a favorite plant of ours.  The scent of the resin of its leaves is what, to a person who lives in the desert, smells exactly like a rainy day.  It blooms tiny yellow flowers in spring, and Native Americans used it for its detoxifying properties.  The branches are distinctively light colored, like moonlight, and the wood is extremely hardy.)  It was from one of the Grandmother creosote that my husband found a very large, partially fallen branch to make a stang.  We collected a lot of wildflowers as well.  And we were extremely surprised to stumble across (and recognize) a sacred datura plant, with it's big white trumpet flowers!

Later, we had a large feast and watched The Doors movie (my first time seeing it, believe it or not, but I loved it.) 

Day 2: Khoes.  We observed silence during the day.  My husband finished shaving the bark from his creosote stang, and I made a Dionysos mask that I'm very happy with.  The mask face is very feminine in structure, but I painted it dark green and glued ivy, grapes and moss to it... the whole effect seems powerful and androgynous.  We listened to music, drank wine, celebrated our own creativity and each other.

Next year I plan to do a few things differently particularly with Khoes.  Set aside time for solo ritual and devotion.  Ideally, use an entheogen other than or in addition to wine.  Also, let people know that I will be unavailable in advance.  A family member wanting to reach you by phone to tell you something when you're observing a day of silence is problematic, if unavoidable at times.  My suspicions on what this news was was confirmed the next day -- my grandmother who has had cancer had taken a turn for the worse.  (And at the time of me posting this, has since passed on.)  

Day 3: Khutroi.  I made a very simple panspermia from pearl barley, goats milk and local honey.  We left some out on our patio for the wandering spirits and took some with us to leave at the cemetery.  

At the cemetery, we brought a digital recorder and did an EVP session.  Which might sound silly to some, but with the associations of the day it seemed to us to be appropriate.  Why not give the spirits a chance to speak?  And even if they choose not to, then we have still given them our respectful attention and acknowledgement.  My husband also said an impromptu prayer to Hermes that was lovely, and I am glad we have that recorded as well.  (To date, we still haven't listened to the session, but we will.)  It was strange and sobering being at the cemetery knowing that I would be returning soon, in a matter of days, to bury a family member, even though I am not close to her.  

After the sun went down, we tracked down a park with swings.  This was one big thing we did differently this year, doing the swinging on Khutroi instead of Khoes.   (Can't say I have a preference yet.)  The swings we found were in terrible need of being oiled, and they screeched horribly when we tried to swing on them.  But we found that if we swung sideways or in circles, that we could avoid the worst of it.  That turned out to be more fun and appropriate-seeming anyhow, as we made large circles sometimes almost colliding with each other and sometimes making figure eights.  We often looked up at the stars as we swung and I told my husband the story of Erigone, and spoke aloud for the first time my intent to create a festival for Ariadne.  After we finished we walked the perimeter of the park and swung our yarn dolls up into the branches of a tree.

Later, at home, we banished the keres by smudging and sweeping.  I also replaced our old creosote sprigs that had been hung over the doors from last Anthesteria with new ones.

Pithoigia - Anthesteria Day 1

All 3 days included preparations in the afternoon, and outing that crossed over into twilight and sunset, and then further activities in the evening.  I work a graveyard shift and keep my hours the same on my days off, so this was logical.  But even aside from that, it seemed very appropriate to be out in the twilight each day, for a festival that includes light and dark and haunting elements.  Also, it has always been my favorite time for its beauty and surreal in-betweenness.

I set up a two-tiered temporary altar for the festival.  I do not have a Dionysos statue yet, so I printed out several images.  One of Dionysos framed on the altar, and another 2 Anthesteria-themed images taped in front -- one of the Aiora with a man pushing a woman on a swing, and another of the procession of Dionysos' ship pulled on wheels.  All the wine was on the floor along the bottom.  Most of the time there were white, black and red candles burning as well as the oil lamp flame.

 

My partner joined me for most of the festival, which was wonderful.  Though not a devotee of Dionysos, per se, he certainly has much respect and appreciation for him.  That I can share personal aspects of my spiritual life with him is one of the reasons I love him so much.

The opening invocation was spontaneous, and much more powerful than I anticipated.  Impromptu ritual often makes me nervous, sometimes even when alone.  But that was, if anything, a reason that I challenged myself to do it.  I can't even remember all of what I said, but the god's presence was strong throughout.  But after the invocation itself, I thanked him for blessings in the past year, I asked him to bless the wine and poured the first portion out to him, and read a couple hymns aloud.

With bottles of water and wine, we then went walking in the area around my apartment complex.  Despite the freeway being close by, there is a river wash and a large bridge recently built over it.  A park area and ramada are all in the process of being built there, too, and I'd been wanting to explore it all.  We gathered some wildflowers on the way and ran into several groups of quail.  (Birds were a theme throughout the whole festival.)

One of my goals was to collect some creosote branches.  Buckthorn, though traditional to Anthesteria, is not something I expected to find easily in the Southwest desert.  But in thinking of the land and plants I WAS familiar with, it occurred to me that Creosote (also called Chapparal) also has medicinal associations of being cleansing and detoxifying.  (Interestingly, a ring of creosote in the Mojave desert is said to be one of the oldest living organisms on earth. It is a formidable plant!)  It is significant to the desert seasons, too, because of the familiar scent it releases during the rains, and I've always loved it for that reason.  Rain and the smell of rain are rare pleasures here. 

I had faith we'd run into some eventually.  Amusingly, my partner could smell it nearby before we could see it.  This time of year the creosote is greener than usual but not budding just yet.  We poured out some wine to the plant while I collected some green sprigs and my partner picked out some larger, fallen branches to see if they would lend themselves to wand-making.

It got dark quickly, but there was moonlight and streetlights along and underneath the bridge.  I can't really explain why I love the bridge so much.  It's just... bridgey!  It's a very modern construction, but it's so *between*.  You could walk across it OR underneath it, and particularly underneath you get a very sudden sense of *other*.  Visually, the whole little area is an interesting collision of city and desert that seems it would be a good area for magic-working.  I forgot to get pictures there, but I will sometime in the future.

The mood was both fun and reverent.  We kept the wine flowing, and later in the evening we feasted on assorted fruits and foods, including a leg of lamb that I had cooked in the slow cooker.  Yum!  We then settled down to our "crafts" for the evening while listening to music.  My partner worked on his creosote wand, while I began making my Dionysos mask. 

While camping earlier in the month, I had found a tree that was shedding large pieces of bark, and I had taken a couple of these with the intent of making a mask.  It wasn't one I was intending to wear, so the weight of it was not a concern.  But I really liked the idea of a piece of tree becoming the face of the god.  Otto's Dionysos: Myth and Cult was a huge inspiration here, not only in my understanding of masks (and trees) in the cult of the god, but I also used one of the vase images in the book for the design.  I wanted it to be more abstract than life-like, so it worked perfectly, though I may make a life-like one eventually.  I painted the inner side with black and gold acrylic paint.  Technically if you held it up to your face, the face of the god would be touching your face and the bark of the tree would be facing out.  I was very happy with the final result. 

While we were crafting, we also drank a special bottle of local wine we'd gotten from Jerome (on a devotional day in December when we'd gone wine tasting).  Before passing out, we ended the evening by watching Eddie Izzard.  I had forgotten how many jokes he makes about Greek mythology!