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.
