When Theater Becomes Worship

I am in absolute awe of this production of The Bacchae performed by the Teatro Oficina in São Paulo, Brazil.  I can't recall if someone recommended it to me, or if I stumbled upon it, but it's been on my list to watch for over a year after watching an hour of it last year, and then I finally watched the whole thing over the most recent Lenaia.  (No mean feat, considering it's an epic 5 hours long - but totally worth it.) 

I can't imagine anything like this being performed in the U.S. It feels like the closest thing we could get to seeing how things might have been performed in Ancient Greece. Not because of the setting (most of it takes place in an building, albeit a really unconventional one), but because of the way it feels like devotional theater, like being part of a huge public ritual. There's nods to Brazil's Carnival tradition in the production, which only adds to it. But I can't imagine that these people were NOT overtaken with Dionysian ecstasy while doing this. And I can't imagine that anyone who wasn't in love with Dionysos would have gone through the effort of putting together something this madly ambitious.

Warning: Extremely NSFW.

I was able to dig up an article about the theater company, in case you were as curious as I was.  Now visiting this theater is a new travel goal of mine.

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.