Sannion has written a lovely sequence of daily prayers to Dionysos, one for each day of the week. Check them out here: via Daily Hymns
Monthly Archives: January 2019
Today in the US is set to be brutally cold. Some cities will have, according to the news broadcast I just watched, windchill factors colder than Antarctica (Chicago, for one). Stay warm — dress in layers, cover your face, wear your gloves — and stay inside if you can. We’re talking temps deep into the negative numbers. One can get frostbite being outside for just a few minutes in such weather. So be safe, folks and please don’t take chances. Those of you like me with chronic pain issues, be kind to yourselves. The next few days are likely to suck.
EDIT: also, keep your pets inside. And for those below the equator, who are suffering temperatures of 111 degrees Farenheit and possibly higher, stay cool, stay hydrated. that weather is as deadly as the cold. 😦
(Chicago this week 🙂
Taking a cue from Sannion’s gorgeous prayer cycle for Dionysos, I’m going to do the same thing for Odin: one prayer for each day of the week starting with a prayer for Monday. I suspect, given my crazy schedule, that it’s going to take me far longer than it did him to finish the entire cycle, but here is the prayer for day one.
To You, gaunt wanderer,
Who sought the counsel of the luminous God,
alone, in a stark landscape
of ice and dying trees,
secrets of unseen things,
this prayer is given.
He does His war dance,
scimitars flashing, rivaling fire as He moves,
alabaster white and shining,
eyes showing the sowing of worlds,
keen-footed steps their destruction.
The Warlord learned,
and bowed His head down
to the glory and the beauty.
May we too be open to such wonder,
now and always.
Hail to You, Gangleri.
(by G. Krasskova)
(“Odin the Wanderer” by Dasaod.deviantart.com)
omg we need to be showing this to young people today. I’m all for striving for excellence, I think we should be encouraged to do so, but the idea of emotional balance and dealing well with set backs is one that’s sorely needed today.
Vandals in London have desecrated a memorial to WWII RAF fighters. This is in wake of a black studies professor calling these heroes war criminals (you know, the men who fought actual nazis. I guess they’ll give PhDs to anyone these days). This is the result of people who have zero respect for the dead, and who see western identity as a problem to be solved. I hope they catch the criminals. I would like to see them drawn and quartered, though of course in these ‘civilized’ times such punishments are no longer given. Pity. One who desecrates the military dead deserves nothing else.
(photo “Lest We Forget” by G. Krasskova)
I follow a historical channel on facebook that often posts really quirky or interesting facts about various periods in history. I’ve actually learned a few things from their articles and it’s one of the more enjoyable sites that I follow. Yesterday, they posted a clip of A. Moreschi, the last castrato. He was never a major operatic voice, but a well-respected singer in the Vatican choir. There are recordings of him made in 1902. They’re not great. Recording technology at the time lacked the capacity to record the fullness of a singer’s range. One sees the same issue with female sopranos who were recorded around the same time. The result is weird, thin, and reedy. Still, we have these recordings and they are an interesting nod to a group of men who transformed the musical world.
So, many of the commenters were unfamiliar with castrati and since this is pretty much exactly what my entire dissertation is going to be on, I jumped in and we were talking about it, except the women (and it was all women with whom I was conversing, something that, given the topic, surprised me) with whom I was conversing couldn’t get past “you’re disgusting” if you find beauty in this. The idea of transcendent beauty, of sacrificing oneself for something better, for an art that will impact generations, of considering an art worthy of self-transformation was completely beyond their comprehension. They could not get past, “that’s horrific and you’re disgusting unless you agree with us wholeheartedly that it’s awful.” Well, I don’t think it was.
The names of these men are sacred to me. When they were very young they (there are cases of individual castrati requesting it. I believe Caffarelli was one such) or their parents chose castration in service to Art. Instead of progeny, they reached for immortality. Instead of poverty, they chose a path that would, if they succeeded even at a modest career, elevate the standard of living and status of their entire family. They chose a path that transformed them into conduits for an awe-inspiring, transcendent beauty. I mourn the loss to our world of their living presence.
I think in a world poisoned by the post-modernism, where our idea of Art is to throw paint on a canvas and call it such, where we no longer connect the arts and the sacred, where we are, in fact, deeply suspicious of anything holy or sacred, and where we consider the human individual the height of majesty it can be very, very difficult to comprehend a time, a place, and people who have other standards. Art is the best and highest expression of who we are as a species. It is better and more important than any single one of us and those who sacrifice themselves to its fire should be honored. I was a ballet dance, professionally for a time, which means I started a career that left a brutal imprint on my body – one I still struggle with in terms of ongoing injury and chronic pain—when I was a child. This was my choice. In fact, I did it against my parents’ desires. So to say that a child cannot know what he wants, cannot make the choice to devote himself to a craft is nonsense. Children do this every day.
We have no problem today with celebrating children ranging from three on up who choose to take hormone blockers, pharmaceuticals, and to prepare for extremely painful surgery and who run the risk of rendering themselves permanently sterile to shape their bodies in accordance with their inner vision. How is this any different?
The castrati were not, despite efforts of queer theorists to use them as such, transgender. They were men, men who gave themselves over to something much bigger and more important than their individual selves. In doing so, in creating bodies capable of containing and producing a glorious, angelic sound, they transformed their world and ours. I think we must affirm their choice to shape their body as their will intends, or where is the freedom of the individual we so cherish today? Beauty at that level is always horrific. That is why it is sacred. I, for one, praise it. Moreover, I’d like to see more people willing to give their all for Art, and most of all, for their Gods.
Here is the first entry to the Agon for Morpheus. This Agon runs through Feb. 15.
Shape shifter and God of Dreams.
Here I am,
falling in the dusky depths
of my restless mind,
Please draw near.
As my body leans back
in my small and modest, (but comfy) bed
I call You in the dark.
Come close, winged God.
Draw near, God of Dreams.
Please dwell for a while in my mind.
Catch me in Your arms tonight
and take me to that secret place
that You know oh so well,
where the Gods reside
in glimmering robes
in sumptuous palaces
under bright starry nights;
that place filled
with the sweetest perfumes
I have ever sensed
and the memories
of a million million lives
that the Gods remember bit by bit,
tear by tear, joy by joy;
that secret place
hidden in plain view
known to few mortals
familiar to all Gods
where I can find my Beloved.
Help me find Him.
there is no end to the lengths I’d go
to find Him.
I’d climb any mountain
barefoot in the freezing snow.
I’d fall through any stream.
I’d suffer extreme cold,
tearing hunger and thirst,
pain like no other.
I’d walk through a fiery burning fire,
slowly, in my knees,
and I’d do that
again and again and again
Just to find Him,
just to see Him for a split second
I’d tear myself to pieces.
He is my Sweet Lord, my Beloved.
Help me find Him, God of Dreams.
Because I know You can help me find Him.
Because You know what He means for me.
Oh please help me find Him
In sacred sleep, devout and pure,
Secured in Your arms.
Please guide me there
by Vanessa M.
So due to the press of academic work (this past semester was hell), I stopped running agones for awhile. Recently, however, I received some important aid from Morpheus, God of dreams and in return promised Him an agon. To that end, from now until Feb. 15, there will be a Morpheus agon running here.
It is open to artwork, prayers, poems, even essays about this God. There will be prizes (I’ll post about that later) and everyone who enters will receive a Morpheus card.
I”ll also be posting the winner of the Anteros Agon this week.
Anyone interested, send submissions to me at krasskova at gmail.com. 🙂
a lovely prayer for those in the healing arts out there. For those more familiar with Norse names of our Gods, Mona is Mani, Sol is Sunna, Niht is Nott and Folde is Jord. 🙂
Oh, look upon these herbs collected.
Children plucked from Folde’s fertile womb
May they share your benefits
Oh Goddess rich in vegetation
And to Mōna and to Niht I do call
Dressed in nightfall’s mantle
You who kiss all things with your dew
Dripping to Earth from the horse’s bit
Nourishing all until Sōl reclaims the heavens
Share with me your power
Share it with seed and with sprout
And with all green things
May they prove potent
And drive out sickness and wound
Or applied upon the body
May we be whole and may we be well