Holy Dread

I can’t recall this topic being written about elsewhere, but I’m really curious if others have experienced this phenomenon. As far as I know, I made up the term “holy dread”, but given my poor memory I could be wrong - so I hope someone will correct me if I’m mistaken, or let me know if there’s already another term for this out there! 

Holy dread is something that I first remember experiencing in 2014, although it’s possible it happened before that and it just wasn’t as dramatically on my radar. I had gone up to my sacred mountains, the Mogollon Rim in Arizona, to perform a ritual for Ariadne, Dionysos and the Mountain Mother. I wrote about the experience here, and back then I described feeling… “a temptation to distract myself with something innocuous, and underlying that… a bubbling up of something terrifying.” 

At the time, I wrote it off as a sort of grief-fueled existential crisis. But I just journaled about it and went ahead with the ritual as planned. 

The next year I went up again to repeat the observance, as I felt it had been quite powerful, especially doing it in the summer with the Corona Borealis overhead. I added to it a bit, and decided to invite the spirit of my husband to join in. (I also did some other work to connect with him before the main ritual.) 

 This time, the feeling of dread was SO strong leading up to it, that I remember recording a video of myself on my phone “just in case” I didn’t make it through to the other side of the ritual. I knew it was a silly thought, but I couldn’t shake it. That ritual turned out to be incredibly powerful - what I feel was an initiation and blessing from the gods upon me and my husband both. 

I will also usually feel holy dread during Anthesteria before my Khoes rites, and sometimes during other festivals like Lenaia. 

So how would I describe holy dread? It’s like a weighted sense of impending and inexplicable doom that directly precedes an important ritual, trial or spiritual work. The level of holy dread can sometimes be correlated with how powerful the ritual turns out to be, but not necessarily. The weight is lifted at some point once the ritual is started. (Or I would assume, if you chose to not go through with it- although I’ve never done that.) 

I’ve experienced holy dread for rituals both indoor in controlled circumstances and outdoors in nature. But it’s only ever been before rituals that have a strong ecstatic element and involve entheogens or altered states of consciousness. However, I don’t think it’s just the knowledge that I’ll be partaking of entheogens that causes the dread. The feeling is distinct from the sort of nervous butterflies or trepidation I’ve experienced before using psychedelics recreationally. It could be something to do with the ecstatic element - the knowing that I will be giving up some measure of control and putting myself in the hands of the gods and spirits.  

When I experienced it most recently a couple weeks ago, I was by now very acquainted with the feeling, but it STILL completely bowled me over. It was so pronounced, that I was genuinely concerned for my well-being.  That’s how intense it was. I kept thinking, what if this was actual intuition this time, warning me to stop? What if this was in fact a bad idea? Were the gods trying to tell me to stop before I even started? 

So of course, discernment comes in really handy here. In this case, I performed some divination and got the green light. I also recorded a video of myself on my phone again, which is weirdly soothing. It puts a light/mirror to your own fears, and it pacifies the thinking-mind to say things out loud and put it “on record”. 

Note: When I googled “holy dread”, I re-discovered that it’s a phrase in Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”. It’s a poem I’ve been familiar with since my teenage years so perhaps that’s where my subconscious mind grabbed it from. Apparently it's also the title of an appropriately atmospheric track from The Fountain soundtrack (one of my favorite films) - so I figured I’ll share that here:

Anthesteria 2019

Pithoigia
The Opening of the Wine Jars

This was my 2nd Anthesteria away from my home state and my first Anthesteria in a New England climate. I was blessed to be able to spend some time outdoors each day. Although the weather was not ideal, it was not downright prohibitive or hostile, even though there have been days since then that could be described that way.

I began my Pithoigia just before sunset, at a small riverside park near my home. There’s a lot of snow on the ground still, although the day was unusually warmer (highly 30’s into the 40’s). It would have been smarter to have snowshoes, but I managed fairly well without.

At the riverside, I said some opening prayers and sounded my bullhorn a few times. I opened the first bottle of wine and shared it in libation on the frozen earth. There are no flowers yet, not even a hint of a sprout. But there is the dream of spring, the promise of it in the less-freezing weather, and certainly the desire for it. And of course, Dionysos can be found in every place and time. 

I walked and chanted, and suddenly remembered I had spontaneously altered a chant to Dionysos a couple years back specifically for this day. I can’t recall how that one went, be this one settled into:

“Come with the wine pots,
Come with the flower petals,
Come with the restless dead,
Dionysos, come!

“Come Anthesterios,
Come to us Bakcheios,
Come to us Lusios,
Dionysos, come!”

I did some tree-pulling at the top of a small hill -- something I’ve experimented with here and there, having found it depicted in Minoan art. We can only speculate on what it meant to the Minoans, but I’ve found it to be a nice way to commune with the land and trees, especially while dancing outdoors, but also in more quiet meditative moments. “Tree-pulling” is a weird term yet oddly descriptive. I usually grasp a smaller tree by its trunk and let the rest of my body fall back and sway back and forth, usually switching hands on the upswing. It’s especially thrilling if you do it near a cliff’s edge or on a hill. Tree-pulling is not unlike swinging but without a rope, expressing a natural rhythm that thrums under the surface. The practice invites your consciousness into tree-time, to notice things like the wind or the way the bare branches fractal against the cloudy sky. Old and elemental are these mysteries of the Mountain Mother.

As I walked back, I whispered to the trees (modern maenad to the Nymphae): “Dionysos is here!”

In a stroke of good fortune, I had acquired about $50 worth of fresh flowers for free from my work at the last minute, and it made my shrines at home quite beautiful.








A part of me always hopes to create something lovely on Anthesteria (it’s when I’ve made some treasured devotional pieces in the past). It doesn’t happen every year, though, and I found myself just needing to unwind and let go this time, so I honored that inclination. I played around with watercolors a little but mostly I just spent the evening listening to music and drinking an amazing bottle of Amarone wine I’d been saving for over a year.

My feast foods were wonderful. One of the reasons I got a later start in the day was that I spent time making mostly-homemade baklava (I bought the phyllo dough.) I made it because I adore it, but it’s also a perfectly symbolic dessert for Anthesteria. Layers of dough and chopped nuts akin to layers of the soil and gravel and earth. Then soaked in honey and a bit of rosewater to symbolize the flowers. I also added chopped figs, for even more of a Dionysos association. It’s the first time I made it and it turned out wonderfully; I think I can make it even better next time now that I understand the process better.



Aiora & Khoes
The Swing & the Wine Pitcher

Traditionally, I spend Khoes in silence until my ritual in the evening, so that my words are reserved to exclaim the epiphany of Dionysos. But it has other benefits, too. It releases the pressure of much mundane interaction, and allows me to keep my mind on what’s holy. Throughout the day it’s as if I’m gradually disengaging with the “normal” world and by the time night rolls around I’ve already got a solid foot in the spirit realm. It’s not a bad way to honor the hanging girls for the Aiora either, which is what I spend the first half of the day doing.

I made paper cut outs of the hanging girls this year instead of the stick and yarn figures I’ve made in the past. I also learned to tie a noose-knot with the rough craft twine. I was very happy with how they turned out, and putting them on paper allowed me to write on them, so I wrote poems as well.

Remember Erigone
Beloved of Dionysos
Grief-struck
She swung on the tree
by her graceful throat
suspended like a ripe fruit
between
earth and starry heaven

Remember Ariadne
Beloved wife of Dionysos
Keeper of holy mysteries
She surrendered her mortal body
to her immortal daemon
on the isle of Naxos
So she might wear a crown of stars

Remember Arachne
Beloved of Dionysos
Weaver who knew her worth
She pays penance web by web
The Spider Queen
of primal wisdom.

I went to a park I hadn’t been to before, nestled in a quiet neighborhood. It wasn’t exactly private but probably due to the chilly weather, I had the place to myself and no one bothered me. I poured out wine, listened to music I associate with the hanging girls while swinging between setting sun and rising moon. How is it that this always strikes me anew, every year... This feeling of being in the axis of a lunar/solar seesaw?

I took breaks to hang the girls, one by one, and place a daffodil in the snow at the base of their trees. A bit of sympathetic flower magic, if you will. Some red wine in the snow like spilled blood. I stayed until the bare trees took on that eerie quality of negative space, and the stars started peeking out through the spidery branches. By that time the moon seemed impossibly bright and I was fascinated by the way the moonlight was casting tree shadows on the snow -- not something I had experienced before.

















I prayed to the land spirits for a time, and then returned home to prepare myself for my Khoes ritual.

And what can I say of that, that could possibly do it justice? I am reminded that there is always more levels to ekstasis, and there is always more to surrender. There is the god of many masks, and then there is the god triumphant and manifest - without metaphor - who simply is and is right fucking here.

Alethia meets soma.

I am filled with awe.








Khutroi
The Pots

On my way to the graveyard, I couldn’t help but notice how the light seemed different. It seemed to glow a little brighter, as if I was seeing reality through a different filter.

The cemetery was a large and beautiful lakeside one. New England cemeteries are something else. Older, of course, and more atmospheric, with a lot of unique memorials. Unfortunately there was so much snow I couldn’t wander as freely amongst the tombstones as I normally would have, and it was colder than the previous two days so I didn’t linger overlong. But I did say a prayer to Hermes, poured out wine and left flowers in various places - and of course left the beans and grain panspermia I had cooked for the dead.















In the evening I went to a wine tasting party I had been invited to by a coworker. (Believe it or not, I nearly declined the invitation because I was going to be too busy observing a Dionysian festival… before realizing how ridiculous that was.) It was great fun. It was a group of 8-10 people coming together for the primary purpose of sharing a love of wine for a couple hours. And for me, there’s nothing quite like the giddy buzz you get from tasting a variety of wines. The most unusual was a 10 year old sparkling rosé that smelled like a sweet port but tasted like a dry champagne with strong notes of wild mushrooms!

Back at home I wrapped things up by burning some banishing herbs and bidding the keres to depart. And that was my Anthesteria.

Festivals that have been celebrated over many years tend to invite you reflect on the past and how things have shifted and evolved in life in general. But I've also found that they set the tone for what's to come. That being said, I'm very much looking forward to seeing what the rest of the year has in store.

Maiuma 2015

On the night of the Maiuma, a festival to commemorate the joining of Dionysos and Aphrodite… A night of love, passion, revelry and baptism...

I shouldn’t be surprised… that one of my favorite bands are playing the same night.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that the singer of the band tells me that she thinks of my husband often, even though she only met him twice, and we speak in depth of love and death.

I shouldn’t be surprised.... that a total stranger asks me to talk about sexuality and the nature of unconditional love as I’m sipping strawberry beer.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that being the only person dancing on the dance floor is still worth it.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that another stranger tells me my dancing made the night even better for him.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that the band ends up playing 2 ½ sets because the other two bands cancel at the last minute.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that the night smells like rain and nostalgia.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that my mom remembered to buy me strawberries so I could make something special for a feast.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that wine and cider make a lovely combination.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that hot baths still make my heart pound.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that I have tears left to cry, though they are not happy or sad, but something else.

I shouldn’t be surprised… that the three red candles on the altar haven’t burnt out yet.

...

I shouldn’t be surprised… that I can still be surprised at all.  But I hope I never stop.

The Dionysian Dead - Blood and Other Gifts

I did my second blood offering to the Dionysian Dead.

The first time was a bit clumsy, this time was a little less clumsy.  So I’m not an expert here by any means, just sharing my experience since it seems that others might be a bit hesitant to do this.  Forgive the lack of poetry, but I am anxious to get this down.

Background:  I have done some basic ancestor work in the last year, and have honored the dead at appropriate festivals (Samhain, Anthesteria) but other than this, no special experience in working with the dead.  But my husband died unexpectedly last May, so that experience, both coping with the grief and conceptualizing the afterlife, has brought me close to the edge, so to speak.  And even the Anthesteria before he died there were signs that I should start focusing more on the dead.  I wouldn’t do intense work with just any wandering dead, because that’s more than I’m prepared to deal with, but I feel that when it comes to the Dionysian dead in particular, that Dionysos is going to be the the mediating presence.  I trust him.

What I gathered: paper, pencil, single blade razor, isopropyl alcohol, paper towels, bandaid, pine resin salve, a vessel for burning (like a small cauldron), other usual ritual accoutrements, tobacco and whiskey for offerings, music

Practical side: Cutting yourself on purpose is harder than you think it’s going to be. It just is.  And probably not for everyone for a variety of reasons.  But I feel like for me it’s doable and just something I’m trying to figure out the best method for. A knife was too clumsy and hard to control, and the single razor I used was difficult to get a decent depth of cut with, so I’m not wed to a particular method yet, although the razor was better.  Obviously, be careful and smart about it.  I especially like the idea of using pine resin salve afterwards, though, if you can get or make some.  It’s a good healer and pine is associated with Dionysos, so it’s protective in a spiritual AND antimicrobial way.

I called upon Dionysos first, and asked him to bring his blessed dead and be the intermediary.  Then I called upon the Dionysian dead themselves, praised them and asked them to be present, to dance with me and receive my offerings.

Dancing!

For anyone in the Thiasos of the Starry Bull that read and discussed Philostratus’ On Heroes a little while back, you might remember this bit:

To be cleansed of the body is the beginning of life for divine and thus blessed souls. For the gods, whose attendants they are, they then know, not by worshipping statues and conjectures, but by gaining visible association with them. And free from the body and its diseases, souls observe the affairs of mortals, both when souls are filled with prophetic skill and when the oracular power sends Bacchic frenzy upon them.

The last sentence in particular jumped out at me.  What this says to me is that not only must we be in an altered or frenzied state to interact with the spirits of the dead, but the dead and/or the heroes must be brought into a frenzy as well in order to interact with us.  There is a meeting in between, perhaps.  In other words, we must do some work to alter or raise their spiritual vibrations and our own to similar frequencies.  What does this mean?  From what I can guess… Give them energy, and specifically, energy that is reciprocal and flows between the realms — offerings of food or drink, music, and things that bring you into altered states of consciousness (dance, wine, chanting, etc.) used with intention.  The blood offering itself no doubt does this as well, but since I wanted the blood to be a gift and not the tool (if there’s a difference), I chose to play music and dance first.

Once I felt good about the energy raised, I sat down to do the blood offering.  I took a small piece of paper and wrote a spontaneous prayer to the Dionysian dead.  I read it aloud.  And I took the razor and made a couple cuts on my left thumb.  I pressed the blood into the paper.  I hand-rolled a cigarette of organic tobacco and blew tobacco smoke onto it.  And then I burned the paper. Sprinkled some alcohol into the flames.  Blood and breath, earth and fire and spirit.




And then I danced some more.  I had this mix of music that went from Hellblinki to the Doors.  After I settled down, I decided to use the Oracle of the Doors to see how my offering was received.  Which is where things got interesting.  The first response I got was:

You’re lost little girl.

Um, okay. That could be negative.  Am I totally on the wrong track?  But then, that particular Doors lyrics just played so maybe it’s a playful acknowledgement.  To further clarify:

Don’t worry, the operation won’t take long and you’ll feel much better in the morning.

Hmmm, enigmatic, but positive hints toward the future and possibly the operation being the blood offering itself.  One more:
 
Go out and buy a brand new pair of shoes.

Okay, this one REALLY got my attention. Bizarrely, I had been shoe shopping all day, trying to find a pair of shoes to go with a particular dress, and did not have any luck.  In fact, just before I did this ritual I had a long rant to my mom about how I couldn’t find the right shoes and didn’t even know what the right shoes would even look like, because my qualifications and the dress itself are so particular.  So are they saying they were with me, watching me, while I was shopping today….?
Being tipsy and feeling like I was being played with, I said “No, really!  How was my offering received?”  And got:

it’s how it has to be

Okay.  I could deal with that.

The next day, I went to an appointment and then found myself with some free time before I had to get ready for dinner with a friend.  So I hit a Goodwill and looked for shoes again, bought a pair that pinched my toes but probably wouldn’t look awful.  I gave up and started to head home.  On my way, I missed a turn I would have taken if I’d been paying more attention, but then the next turn I took I saw another Goodwill where I didn’t know there had been one.  Well, why not?  It wasn’t until that moment where I had pretty much given up again that I saw them.  THE PERFECT PAIR OF SHOES.  Even just seeing them on the shelf I’m sure I said, “No way!” under my breath and then, “But I bet they don’t have the sort of heel I want.”  But, they did.  The particular shade of brown, the pattern on the shoes that would offset the pattern on the dress, it was so fucking unlikely that my heart was pounding when I checked the size and tried them on.  Just a tad too big, but that would be a piece of cake to deal with!

Shoes may seem like a really silly thing to get excited about, there is more to it… The dress that they needed to go with?  Belonged to my husband.  (And yes, he looked really great in it.)  And I have been planning for months to wear it in remembrance of him, to the concert of a musician we both love, whom he never got a chance to see.  So even in this girly, silly detail was this really special significance to me, and to the dead.  There is no doubt in my mind that they were an unexpected gift to acknowledge my gift.  I am overwhelmed at this, and the immediacy and reality of it.
I don’t think pictures do them justice, but here it is…

[Cross-posted at the Boukoleon]

Elevation & Rumination

I wanted to write a little bit about the elevation ritual I performed for my husband between Feb 1st and 9th. I wanted it to be during a waxing moon which is one reason it nestled up so close to Anthesteria and I haven't had a chance to write about it until now.

This is just one of the things I learned about while taking Galina Krasskova's course on ancestor work.  The lessons were a big help for me in getting started honoring the dead and I highly recommend the class if that is something you are interested in. Ancestor elevation is something you can do if you think a particular soul is troubled or distressed, but can also just be done to send them love and energy for peace and well-being. 

My desire to do this came after my birthday in November, when I'd had an incredibly vivid, lucid dream of my husband telling me, among other things, that he was sad and lonely. Whether this was a projection of my fears or not, I felt compelled to do this for him. At best, it would help his soul heal. At worst, it would just be an big showy display of how much I care about him, and there's certainly no harm in that.
 
Because the altar needed to be left out on the floor for 9 days in a row I actually set it up in a walk-in closet.  My brother's cat has been an absolute terror lately and I didn't trust him to not desecrate it.  Although this was done for practical reasons, I rather liked "opening the door" at the start of each night's ritual. Sitting on one side of a doorway and having his altar be on the "other side" later struck me as very symbolic.  This is what it looked like:

 

I can't really describe how soothing it was to me to look at this altar with all the white and the flowers.  I hope he found it as comforting as I did.  More than once, I would open that door and sit down to perform the ritual and I felt a very profound timelessness, a feeling as if I had been doing this same ritual not just for a few days, but for months... or always.

I said prayers to Dionysos, Ariadne and Arianrhod, each ending this prayer with "I entreat you to open the ways of blessings between myself and my beloved... Protect Him and keep him in your realm, and if he becomes lost or sorrowful, remind him of your mysteries, and your love, and the love of those who still remember him." I modified the prayers for the elevation very slightly, and called to spirits, ancestors and guardians who were special to him or watched over him, both particular ones I knew and any in general who wished to help.

I also added a prayer that was a blend of several of the prayers and instructions in the Orphic gold tablets.  (I've been reading a book about them - Ritual Texts for the Afterlife by Fritz Graf & Sarah Iles Johnston -- and I find them to be powerful and beautiful.)

Every day I tried to have a special food or drink offering.  The first night it was a specialty beer that I'd bought before he died and wanted to share with him.  Another night it was special chocolates I'd found, one with honeycomb and the other with mushrooms.  On another it would be a donut and Dr. Pepper (favorites of his).  Twice, it was a full meal.

Another offering, perhaps the most significant, was music.  I played all the records of our favorite band.  And yes, actual records, most of which are rare and were painstakingly acquired by us during the time we were together. This act of offering the music was actually really really hard for me.  We used to lay down together and just bask in these songs, and even in those most exquisite moments, the beauty of it would threaten to overwhelm us.  In fact it is so personal, so deeply and achingly *resonant* to the beauty of our relationship, that I almost don't even wish to share the name of the band.  Like I wrote during Anthesteria, music is a pathway, and this pathway happens to wind through the most intimate and precious parts of my soul and memory.  That we both adored this music, could find the eternity in it, was a metaphor for our love of each other, for the miraculousness of finding one another.

Each day I did the ritual it felt a little different.  Some days were more emotional than others. I can't say there was exactly a progression that I felt.  In fact, if I had to make such a judgment, I'd say that things sort of culminated somewhere in the middle -- at a point where I could actually feel myself being a conduit of the blessings bestowed by the spirits around me.  The energy flowed into me and then through my heart chakra and towards my husband, or at least my focal point on the altar for him.

Although I didn't consciously plan for it to happen this way, the urn that I had had custom painted for him arrived on the 6th or 7th day. So as part of the last night's ritual I transferred his ashes into the urn. I was glad to have this gift for him.

I had asked for certain specifications with the urn but how it turned out was a total surprise.  I burst into tears when I first saw it because it was so perfect.

Some footnotes to this... There have been a lot of things before and since the elevation ritual that have been significant to my grief process and mourning.  I don't know if I could possibly list them all.  Major ones include getting a couple tattoos with his ashes last month, which didn't involve as much physical pain as I feared and hoped for.  Anthesteria was somehow both a blessing and a trial.  There were loud and clear messages of hope from Dionysos, but I felt my husband's absence more than ever.  I put my whole heart into the festival, and my heart felt the stress of it.  A friend's divination told me it's time to come out of mourning, so of course I rebelled and fell into another pit of despair, or a "spiritual temper tantrum" as I've taken to calling them (since I know better than to despair and it's really just the same emotional riffs to the key of I can't/I won't/I don't want/I will never...)  But I came out of that dark place quicker than usual. I found a book I was obviously meant to find that put things into perspective while at the same time one of my best friends had a vision that reiterated the same perspective/message for me.


In short, I have to move forward.  That was another thing given to me during the Aiora, while walking the labyrinth.  We have this idea in life of an infinite number of paths to take and sometimes that freezes us into a state of panic and indecision.  But there's only one choice of action in the labyrinth.  You walk or you stand still.  The path is already there, whether you perceive the pattern or not, whether you have faith in it or not.  And I think that's truer to life than we know.

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.

Lenaia

 

Last week was the Lenaia, and it took up nearly all of my days off, right up until another long work week.  Therefore I'm a little late writing about it!

Our Lenaia was rainy, almost the whole four days of it, unbelievably!  So that remains an important part of my memory of it.  The unexpected wetness of the desert.  The way that everything was more vivid, from the clean air to the way everything shines when wet.  On the last day of the Lenaia, it struck me how water itself is an important element of the festival.  It is the rain or snow that will allow the flowers to bloom on Anthesteria.  It is the nourishing element of the god, it is the water that we mix with the wine.  I don't usually temper my wine with water, but I always will on the Lenaia, because it seems right.
 

On the first day, my husband and I had a feast of local foods, and mostly just enjoyed food, wine and each other's company.  On the second, we went to see the play Equus put on by a small but talented theatre company.  I had seen other plays by this company before, so I knew that they were good and their performances were intimate and challenging.  But I hadn't seen Equus and was unfamiliar with anything except the most basic premise.  It turned out to be incredibly appropriate in its themes for a Dionysian festival (including questioning of what is normal, what is crazy, and the need for ecstatic states of consciousness.)  The horses were played by people in provocative bondage outfits with shaped-wire horse masks.  The narrator is a self-described pagan at heart and even mentioned Dionysos' name in the play.  It was intense and I absolutely loved it.  Did I mention we got to drink wine while watching the play too?  It was lovely.

 

I should mention that on the way to the play and home again, the ipod was on shuffle and was particularly synchronous.  Like, wow. 

 

We went home and I made all my preparations for my planned solitary ritual.  This ritual was significant for me for a few reasons, besides being my first serious observance of the Lenaia.  (Though I've done something simple the last two years, I'm only now getting a grasp on it.)  Since devoting myself to Dionysos, I had ended up rejecting a lot of the set ritual that I was used to, meaning the Wicca-influenced structure of circle casting, quarter calling, invoking, etc.  Not because I think it's wrong, but it ceased to speak to me, and it was more challenging, more Dionysian, to do things without structure, as spontaneously as possible.  However, I think ritual is important, and that ritual structure and symbolism speaks to our deeper self, and is often needed for important works and for communing with the gods. So I was trying to find a balance with these ideas, something that's structured but not too much, a ritual that is both Dionysian and speaks to me.  (Naturally, it's a work in progress and probably always will be.)  

Also, if you're not familiar with the Lenaia festival, read this excellent article by Sannion.  My comments illustrate some of my thoughts as I've researched the festival.  I also took inspiration from a dream I had on the Lenaia last year.

This is what I did...

 

I set up my wooden mask of Dionysos on a tall altar that was draped in cloth and decorated with ivy.  On the altar was also the libation cup, a bowl for wine and a bowl for water.  On the lower platform beneath it was a clay phallos in a basket, covered with a veil.  

I took a bath in candlelight, then entered my ritual space.  I blessed some spring water with breath and salt, and use a sprig of rosemary to asperge the space.  I lit all the candles around the room.  I let the incense fill the room.  I anointed myself with a perfume oil that reminds me of the god.

"With sacred waters, I cleanse this space for the god who comes."
"With sacred flame, I light this space for the god who comes."
"With sacred smoke, I prepare this space for the god who comes."
"With sacred oil, I anoint myself for the god who comes."

I take up my thyrsus, feel it's power, remember the times I've danced with it.  I call to mind a dream of mine, of a sacred garden with high walls covered in ivy.  I let this image meld with the room I'm in.  I call the ivy up as a protective barrier.
I ask the spirit of the Bull to be present, to guard the exterior.  I call the spirit of the Panther, intending to ask the same but instead I find myself inviting Panther in with me, to protect the interior.  Panther has been a companion in my dreams even before I began worshipping Dionysos.  It feels right.

I vibrate my chakras twice.  Once with my usual method with the Greek god names, and again with epithets of Dionysos.  Energy becomes more palpable now, and I direct all my movement, my energy and attention to the Mask.
I praise Zeus and Semele.  I praise the nymphs, and read them a hymn.

I speak to the Mask.  Some words of my own, then some borrowed...

 "Dionysos! The Mask embodies Your power more than that of any other God! No mortal dons Your mask, for Your power resides in the empty mask. Your eyes transfix us, steadier than any human gaze. We reply to Your face in the inmost depths of our souls. You confront us in Your paradox. Child of a God and a mortal, born of Heaven and Earth, uniter of opposites. Lord of Moist Nature, Born of Fire. You are the Primordial Force of Life, madly creating and destroying as You will! For Indestructible Life implies both birth and death. Your mask dramatically unifies illusion and reality. No body, nothing behind the surface: pure persona. Ephemeral shell. Absent, yet present. Appearing and disappearing. At once you are and are not...

 

"One part of you eternal, while the other part slumbers. Dionysos Masked and Dionysos Liknites. Behold the mask.  Behold the Liknon."

I take the Liknon.  I cradle it in silence, rocking it occasionally.  After a few moments, I whisper, "Now wake, my God! Hear my voice... know my devotion..."

I take up my gourd rattle, find a rhythm and chant over the Liknon... "Awaken, Son of Semele! Iakkhos, Iakkhos!"  Over and over.  My voice sometimes audible and sometimes inaudible.  There is no sense of energy being raised, as I intended.  Just the syllables and the rattle, again and again.  I persist.  And then the moment comes, unexpectedly in a sudden wave.  I unveil the Liknon.

"As promised, the god awakens! Hail Dionysos!  Hail Iakkhos!"

The wine is poured into the offering bowl... "The blood of the dismembered god, the sacrifice of the vine!"

The water is poured into the offering bowl... "The sweat and tears of the Lenai, the nymphs and the nursemaids."
I ladle out a cup, holding in up in a wordless moment, then drink.  And drink more.


At this point, I had intended to dance devotionally to a playlist of music.  But I hadn't had any time to create one.  Up until now, I didn't know if I was going to let it go random, or pick song by song.  I think back to earlier in the evening, when the music had been so synchronous, and I'm encouraged.  But anything could come up on that ipod... there's some weird stuff in those 3000+ tracks that would be off-putting, would definitely not be right, would not even be something I could dance to.  And IF I set it to random I would be committing myself to those songs, to the belief that they would be intended.  I couldn't change it after that, I would have to have faith and just go with it.  And with that thought, I know that's what I have to do.  

I asked Dionysos to choose, and I hit shuffle. 

Which is how I ended up dancing to "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."  And then "Decatur" by Sufjan Stevens.  And as the rest of the songs came up, I started realizing the way they all fit together, in mood and rhythm and flow.  These were not any gothic or rock songs.  These songs had a lighter touch, they were somewhat melancholy but with a touch of hope or whimsy, yet easy to dance to.  As I danced, I felt like the god was communicating not only an approval in my faith, in my willingness to relinquish control, but also communicating to me the mood of the festival itself.  And this was absolutely amazing to me.  I reciprocated this gift by dancing all my joy and love for Him.
These were the rest of the songs:

What's Wrong - Grizzly Bear
Kindness of Strangers - The American Analog Set
All My Days - Alexi Murdoch
Moonchild - M83
Deep Blue - Arcade Fire
I'm Not - Panda Bear
We Could Have Flown Like Pollen - ThouShaltNot

(One thing I jotted down post-ritual was "The god makes a better mix tape than I could."  Haha.)

The last two days were more mellow.  Friday was the day our pagan book discussion group meets.  The fact that we were celebrating Lenaia that weekend and that we would be absent next month due to the Anthesteria led me to trying to explain these festivals and what we do.  They seemed both surprised that I don't celebrate the sabbats anymore (with the exception of winter solstice, really) and interested in what we do and how enthusiastic we are.  I'm slowly becoming more open to family and acquaintances about the festivals we celebrate and that I worship Dionysos.  It's surprising how hard it can be to explain when I feel like I'm still figuring it out myself, but I've realized that that's okay.

On the last day of Lenaia, we had planned to go dancing at our favorite goth club, the place that has hosted some of my most significant moments of trance-dancing with Dionysos.  I was very sad to discover earlier in the day that the club has closed, presumably for good.  We looked for other options, but found no suitable ones. My husband passed out early, so I took a bottle of pinot noir for a night-time walk.  

The night was cloudy yet the full moon still peaked through now and then. I didn't even need a jacket, with the humidity.  I walked along the river wash, which is usually dry but was now wet, and visited the places that I knew we would return to on Anthesteria, imagining how they would be transforming in just a matter of weeks.  I looked into dark puddles of water and poured wine into them.  A coyote soundlessly crossed my path and I mentally acknowledged him and continued on.  No toads out, despite the rain... might be too early for them yet.  The raindrops glittered on the creosote branches.

 

Mostly I just listed to music and let everything sink in.  I thought about the water, as I mentioned before.  And I thought of how Lenaia is about awakening, and Anthesteria is about emerging.

I was tipsy when I got home, and I threw on a movie -- V for Vendetta.  It occurred to me partway in that I had picked a movie about a man in a mask without even thinking about it.  Figures!

It was a great festival this year, and I look forward to seeing how it evolves for me.  I feel Anthesteria approaching, too.  It's like a buzzing of energy, a sense of anticipation.   What has been awakened is stirring.