Help the Bakcheion

I am getting more and more excited about Many Gods West!  Can it be true, that in just a few short weeks, I actually get to MEET these people?  Those who have inspired me and those I have been privileged to conspire with?  It's hard to put into words how much this means to me.  It feels like it will be a culmination of all the trials and work of the last 2 years. And perhaps the beginning of a whole new phase.  All I know is that two years ago today I didn't even think I'd still be here.  But I am.  Life is crazy, my friends.

The community effort towards putting on an epic Dionysian ritual at the conference are still underway, but there's just 20 days left.  You can help!  Donate if you can, or if you can't donate money, then please spread the word!  We're still under 25% of the funds needed.  Funds go to the cost of getting the organizing members there and for ritual supplies and offerings.  There's some pretty nice perks as well.  (The one I'm contributing is a special blend of anointing oil.)  The fundraising page is here.

We've been ambitious in our vision.  But I have faith.  This needs to happen.  And it will be deep and cathartic and reverberating for many.

Thank you for anything you can do.  Really, truly, thank you.  

As I write, thunder shakes my house

Do the gods know our thoughts?
If not, they must know our hearts.
     .....

When on the verge of tears--
I must be doing something right
For beauty overwhelms,
I chase it like receding, teasing waves
     like the tide,
Yet it catches me by surprise.

Once you see your past for its perfection,
You may wrap all faith around your future.

But beware of daydreams--
     The gods live in those too.
          And yes, they will remind you.
               Oh yes, they will remind you.

                   

Meaningless measurements of time

An anniversary of an event seems like a pale and silly thing, in light of you and your LIGHT--the person you are and have been, which pervaded and transformed everything. And certainly all that I am. Not an event, just you. You who lived in such beauty and intention, I would not dishonor you by focusing on the unintentional. No, I wrap myself about all the other times, and the timeless... How do you make an anniversary of an eternity, anyway? (And so many exquisite eternities we shared.) Short answer... you do not. You just love, and remember, always. 

 There is not a single moment that I do not

Klexos

"Maybe we should think of memory itself as a work of art--and a work of art is never finished, only abandoned."

From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

I'm relating to so much of these that it makes me wonder how neurotic I really am.  Such as:

exulansis

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

Check it out... it's a rabbit hole.  I support whole-heartedly the effort of naming the minor melancholies that we all feel but don't often have the proper poetry to give voice to...

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.

Many Gods West!

I'll be attending the Many Gods West conference in Olympia this year, for those who may not have heard!  The conference has a really amazing lineup of rituals, panels and presenters.  I've joined the planning group that is putting together an ecstatic ritual to honor Dionysos.  Having the opportunity to participate in something this big for the gods and to be able to worship side by side with friends I've only spoken to online is... well, words cannot say, but I'm beyond thrilled.

There's a few different fundraising things going on for this, for both supplies and costs of getting people there, including clothing you can buy on Cafepress with 2 different designs created by Markos Gage.  One is a thyrsos with a snake in a triangle, which form the first three Greek letters of Dionysos' name, the second is a Starry Bull design. If you're attending, it would be great to wear at the conference. If you're not, it's still a good a way to support the Dionysian ritual we'll be doing and simultaneously add something devotional and snazzy to your wardrobe.

Sannion is offering a few different services that you should definitely take advantage of, if you can.  Also, if you donate $50 or more your name will be included as a blessed benefactor in a small booklet we'll be creating to hand out at the ritual, which will have some devotional prose, art and information about the Bacchic Orphic tradition.

Another divination offering to help with this community effort, is here at Joyous Madness.

I plan to craft some very special pieces to help raise money, as well.  More info about that soon!!

An old poem I wrote, for my beautiful desert

I've lived in one place my whole life--a desert valley in Arizona.  Being a native is somewhat unusual, especially in this region.  I'm used to people denigrating the desert as ugly and harsh. People move here for one reason or another and complain, loudly and frequently...  About the heat of course, and things like "there are no seasons" or "there are no trees".  Neither of which are true, of course. They just don't take the time to see.  Which I can understand, if you're used to soft greenery... and if you're homesick.  The desert accentuates homesickness even when you're not sure what you're homesick for, and not many are comfortable with that.

I relate to my home.  I relate to having a disposition which is blunt and sometimes aloof... with a prickly history, which takes time to understand.  Always longing for something, always leaning towards extremes.  My husband, who was also born here, showed me the art of paying attention to the subtleties of the desert.  When the ocotillo blooms, when the toads emerge, how you can tell the season by the scent of the night.  It's not a coincidence that this was also when I learned more about myself than I ever have.  

Natural Psychology

Twilight, and the orphan desert
is thick with remembrance.
The secret wail is born in grey spaces--
the growing shade beneath stunted trees,
the desperate angle of a canyon wall,
All aching for what once formed it.
In the eons behind our eyes,
We never forget our ocean mother.

Rebel child, resentfully creates
things with armor and spines,
things that thirst but survive.
Even the wise were once abandoned ones,
left to elemental weathering.
As each weary stone rests between incarnations,
the night creatures mourn...
"We can do this alone, we can do this alone."

The monsoon rages at the realization--
the most defiant art is still imitation.
Valleys like immense dry seashells will sing
for a searing, sonorous wind,
while serpents contemplate old reflections.
Among venom, thorns, tears and bitter blood,
A pilgrim on his knees prophesies:
We may embody Her graceful evolution.

The rain carries with it such divine stillness.

Sunrise, and on a current of longing,
Two hawks fly swiftly towards the always-sun.