Category Archives: hellenic things
By Amanda Artemisia Forrester
Hêbê, Attendant of laughter-loving Aphrodite,
I pray that you will fill my home
With the grace that You so easily embody
As gentle as the welcome breeze on a summer’s day
Hêbê, Protectress of Young Brides
Whose hammering hearts are flying high in fear as much as love
You are the guide over the threshold, from virgin to woman, from single to family
And as such, a Psychopomp of sorts, though I doubt You have often been hailed as such!
Hêbê, wife of Herakles, that mightiest of Heroes,
You must have an iron core not often spoken of by the ancient poets
To be a fitting match for the Slayer of Monsters.
Daughter of Hera, Cupbearer of the Gods, today I pour some wine out for You.
By Amanda Artemisa Forrester
Hêbê, sweet Goddess of fleeting Youth
You are arguably the God that this hollow modern culture worships most,
Obsessed as Hollywood is with women in the May of their lifetimes,
The fresh bloom of spring, of girlhood who have yet to taste a lover’s kiss,
And yet, they miss so much of life in the empty quest for youth eternal,
For the Immortality that is Yours alone to give, at Your Father’s behest.
For You I offer this loaf of bread and spiced wine,
In hopes that I may enjoy the blessings of a long and healthy youth,
But also, and perhaps more importantly,
That I will remember that youth is but the first part of life,
from which all mortals must pass
Into the next stage.
Let me not fear to age gracefully when my time comes,
But let it be a long time from now!
throw like a girl
run like a girl
fight like a girl
this girl is the wife of Herakles
the stories seem to say
She was His prize for apotheosis
She asked Her mother’s blessing
almost before She asked Him
to be Her husband
She can throw a discus
run a marathon
hold Her own against Athena in a spar
with the selfsame grace and surety
with which She pours ambrosia
sets a table
the world may sneer at women
who are young and know their power
(or even if they don’t know, yet,
that young women like themselves
hold power, sovereignty)
who wait tables to take classes
and smile their sultry smiles in selfies
phone camera held at careful angles
She too is a photographer
and often overlooked
as young women waiting tables
but there’s power in these snapshots
in supportive words with friends
in the strength of bold young women
who throw and run and fight like girls
combat boots or lipstick
both are armor in their way
call on Hebe, wife of Herakles,
young women, as you fight
to build, restore traditions
and to earn and well-past earn
all the respect you’re more than due
I call to bright bold Hebe
Help us now, I pray
“Stoic Hymn To Zeus”
by Daniel S.
O Zeus, Supreme, Most High,
Your Will guides the destinies of men.
O Zeus, Protector Of The Sanctity Of Oaths,
Should it suit You,
I am quite content
that this be my final day,
for I have strived to live
in accordance with Nature
if You should see fit for me
to live one more day,
I am content as well
and shall continue to sing of Your might.
O Zeus, Ruler Of The Thunderbolt,
Wherever You lead me,
I shall always go gladly and willingly,
Or Fate will drag me, unwilling.
For it is not right to say:
I obey Your Will,
Rather, to say:
I agree with Your Will,
Whatever it may be.
O Zeus, Giver of Good, Of Freedom, Of Strength,
Through deprivation or abundance,
I take comfort in knowing
You, always, are with me.
A friend of mine told me about a meme that’s going around, people doing 100 days of something consecutively for 15 minutes a day. She had chosen to do an hundred days of devotion to her patron Deity and I decided to do the same for Apollo, starting in the new year.
I specifically chose Apollo because of an unfortunate incident that happened when I was studying (with a study group) for my ‘History of Christianity’ final. We had been given a whole list of names, about which we had to write a few sentences (the professor gave us a “syllabus” for the final exam, so we knew exactly what to study). One of those names was Apollinaris the younger, who in the wake of Julian’s proscription that Christians could not teach (sensible. He said that one could not teach what one did not believe and the Homeric corpus was a huge part of education at the time), rewrote the Old Testament in the style of Homer and Pindar, and the New Testament as a pseudo-Platonic dialogue.
We were sharing mnemonics for persons and dates and one of the students said that she remembers Apollinaris because “Apollo doesn’t exist…” and I was just floored. I think I sat there with my mouth hanging open, so taken aback that I didn’t know what to say. We were little more than a half hour away from an exam and she comes up with something so impious that I was physically nauseous. I made a comment to the effect that Apollonaris may not have been intelligent enough to think otherwise, but many Pagans of the time loved and honored Him. In the course of the ensuing conversation I also made it clear that I venerate Apollo but I still walked away feeling unclean and deeply ashamed that it had taken me so long (out of shock) to formulate an appropriate response. I’ve done div on the matter and know that everything is more than fine between me and Apollo and I have no logical reason to feel ashamed, but I do. This, therefore, is my small way of honoring Him, and making amends.
So, I decided that starting Jan. 1 for the next hundred days, I’ll be making a small offering at His shrine and studying Greek. Each day I will read something and translate it for fifteen minutes and then go to His shrine and make the appropriate offerings. (I just finished day one, reading and translating a story about a contest between Boreas and Helios as to Which was stronger. I’ve likewise made offerings to both Apollo and Asklepios, because Asklepios is also awesome).
I wanted to post about this here because I think this is a great challenge. I read somewhere that it takes about thirty days of consistent work to break or build a habit. I can think of no better habit that I might want to build than one of daily devotion to a God I love. Hail Apollo.
For Your protection,
I thank You.
For Your grace and blessings,
I am grateful.
Teach me to honor You fully and well,
Teach me to love You
Until there is nothing else extant
In those spaces of my heart
Parceled out to You.
The Dionysos Agon closes tonight at 9pm EST.
by J. Starman
Dionysos how now You come;
from silence You come at the hour
when a banquet has been set for my king.
You come on quick feet, dancing a satyr’s beat.
Around You turn me and I rejoice, inflamed
and I lay tokens at Your thrice blessed feet,
honoring You as so my Lord honors You,
embracing You as my Lord embraces You.
My kiss is but His kiss upon Your hem
It is my Bacchic Lord, who through me exclaims
to rejoice in You and Your great company,
to sing praise of the thrice born King.
Running From Dionysos
Let me tell you a story,
Many years ago, when I was a boy, my parents abandoned me.
At night, I used to sit by my bedroom window and wait for my mother to come home. Sometimes she did.
Sometimes, it was better when she didn’t.
My banished father was broken and blinded by his own sadness. He is almost a stranger to me.
Every night I would sit, wait, and even pray for someone to come rescue me. No one ever did.
Not God, not Jesus, not even the Devil. So I prayed to Others.
Every night a piece of me would die
until there was nothing left but my pain and rage.
A night of rage
Stabbing wounds into a wall
Holding the knife just under my sternum, preparing for the upward thrust.
A voice saying “No.”
It wasn’t the Beautiful General.
It was the Warrior.
“You will Endure.”
“Put down the blade and pick up the iron.”
“We will harden you and We will forge you into something new.”
“Serve Me and Endure!”
So I did.
But there is a price.
The Warrior is a loyal but hard taskmaster.
Decades have passed and still the pain and rage roils within my iron-forged body.
My body breaks with its containment. My armor no longer serves as it did in the past.
Yet I Endure.
But for how long?
Life has approached me with twinkling eyes and an outstretched hand.
“Let me help.”
“Let me return to you that which died so long ago.”
I drink of His gift and for brief moments I glimpse and experience those parts of me I’ve forgotten,
Those parts He says He can return to me.
Yet I run from Him, called The Joy of Man.
“Let me help”, says the Emancipator.
I recoil in my pain and rage.
“Let me help”, says the Gentle One.
My body aches in pain as I limp away and say to myself through clenched jaw,
May I someday turn to Him and say,
“Please help me.”
by Wynn Dark
Darkness flows with tidal churning.
Blood and wine in the waters of life.
Minds roil and drown in the rhythm of crest and trough.
Some remember Your passing, the wake of it still rippling in their veins.
Others cry out Your name in praise, whether the waters fill their lungs or no.
Most only feel You without knowing what has passed and shudder in their skins for reasons they cannot fathom.
I remember, tossed on a different sea yet the same, I remember.
Alcohol loosens inhibitions
smooths social interactions
helps the shy be bold
The best way to look absurd
on the theater stage
is to hold back
Asserting our own gender
—not that which we were given
when we were born—
inhabiting our own
The twists and turns and tangles
of a mind that wars itself
sometimes are the soil and seed
One cannot be swept away
by the Gods or spirits
if one clings white-knuckled
to the physical
O Dionysos Liberator
You Who Shatter Chains
Releaser of Control
I pray to you
Remember, folks, there are still a few days left in the agon. if you’ve been thinking about submitting something, now’s the time.