Tag: persephone

I am pleased to announce…

… my first professional publication! My short story “A distinguished visitor from the north”, previously posted on Antinous for Everybody, is now available from Amazon Kindle, featuring a gorgeous cover illustration by Li Oesterberg. Many thanks to my dear friend Sarah Loch for doing the layout on this project. A paperback version of the book will soon be available as well.

Buy it! Read it! Review it (favorably, I hope)! Tell your friends! *throws confetti*

FLASHBACK: For the Liberalia

Liber et Libera: A Dialogue

You are my brother.

You are my sister.

You are my husband.

You are my wife.

Your sister, your bride.

My maiden, my tragedy.

You went down into the underworld.

I raised you to the stars.

I thought I had lost you.

I thought I would never find you.

I am parthenos and hetaira.

I am the lover of women and of men.

You have ivy in your hair.

You have wine in your lap.

I have never loved anyone else.

I have only ever loved you.

Every one you have touched has been me.

No one touched you until I came.

Every one that I wanted was you.

You are every soul that I have desired.

We will make the flowers bloom.

We will make the seeds sprout.

We will make the cocks rise.

We will make the grain grow high.

We will pour out wine for everybody.

All the revellers will pour out wine for us.

I give you my heart and soul.

I give you my joy and madness.

I am your sister, your wife, the starry-crowned goddess of the heavens.

I am your brother, your husband, the ivy-crowned bull of the earth.

I am Ariadne, Persephone, Libera.

I am Dionysus, Asterios, Liber.

Liberation for All

From the opposite ends of the world they come together,
brother and sister, mirror twins, husband and wife.
Sometimes he is a bull-headed man
and she is the only one who knows how to find him.
Sometimes she is trapped on an island
and he is the only one who can rescue her.
Sometimes she watches from the stars
while he wanders the underworld and sleeps
in the arms of its goddess. Sometimes
he takes her hand and reminds her that she is
the underworld goddess, white-armed,
dark-eyed, implacable.

They are siblings who have never met.
They are spouses who are never separated.
She has always been here; he has always been there.
The grain and the grape, the myrtle and the ivy,
the bull and the princess who leaps between his horns.
He presides when boys stand up and put on the garments
of manhood; she whispers softly in the night as girls,
dreaming, become women, and hands them the key
to the labyrinth and the clue that will guide them through.

A cup of wine for Liber! A sweet cake for Libera!
Raise up the sacred phallus and honor it
with a wreath of flowers! Father Liber makes men
of boys, and Dame Libera opens the labyrinth
and sets all its prisoners free! Liberation for all!


(Originally published on Antinous for Everybody in 2015 & 2016)

Sacred Nights: Foundation Day 2015

It is 1885 years since the apotheosis of Antinous, on this day in 130 CE.

It is 1885 years since the foundation of Antinoöpolis, His holy city named after Himself as the Founding Hero, on this day in 130 CE.

It is 13 years since the refounding of His cultus in the 21st century.

Let Osiris rejoice with Hapi, for the youth whom they deified is recognized today as a god.

Let all the goddesses rejoice, and with them the divae, heroines, and sanctae, for the Bithynian Boy has become divine, and his mother’s whole body heals.

Let Ophion, Chnoubis, and Glykon rejoice, and with them all the serpent deities, for the mystery of apotheosis is renewed in the sight of mortals.

Let Ananke rejoice, for what was necessary has been carried out.

Let Hadrian and Sabina rejoice even as they mourn, for while Antinous the youth is dead, Antinous the god lives forever and loves them and blesses them.

Let the people of Antinous rejoice, for our god is eternally alive and loves us and blesses us.

Let all the gods of every land and people rejoice, for a new immortal has been added to their ranks.

Welcomed by Persephone, purified by Hapi, one with Osiris, enthroned with the gods of Egypt, Antinous lives!

Sacred Nights: Panthea 2015

Today I sing and celebrate
the vision which the Taliban fear;
today I invoke and praise
the assembly that makes Daesh
boil with rage;
today I proclaim the truth
that makes woman-hating politicians
tremble and clutch at their genitals
and take money away from Planned Parenthood.
Today is Panthea, and today I hymn
the goddesses: All the goddesses, united
in fierce feminine friendship,
in divine power and might,
in divine knowledge and wisdom,
in divine anger, laughter, and love.
Isis, Hathor, Nephthys, Mut,
Qadesh, Erekshkigal, Inanna, Ishtar,
Juno, Minerva, Venus, Flora,
Pomona, Diana, Ceres, Libera,
Demeter and Persephone,
Hera and Hebe,
Artemis, Athena, Aphrodite, Ananke,
Tara, Sarasvati, Parvati, Shakti,
Rosmerta, Rhiannon, Epona, Brigantia,
Morrigan, Aine, Dana, Coventina,
Freya and Frigga and Iduna and Hel,
Sif, Sigyn, Skadi, and Scathach,
the Norns, the Fates, the Parcae, the Furies,
all the goddesses, everywhere, known
and unknown, remembered and forgotten,
kind or unkind, lovely or vile: I sing your praise,
and my god Antinous sings with me:
Dua! Khairete! Avete! Laudo!
The goddesses are alive,
and they are everywhere.

POEM: The "rape" of Persephone

Tell me, Persephone, that it was not like this for you:
Kidnapped and made to sleep in a box, like a dog
in a crate, except when doing housework, or
being used as a sex toy. Kidnapped and kept
in a shed out back at the foot of the yard, while
his wife ignored the noises, the crying. Kidnapped
and kept indoors for ten years, with two other girls,
escorted everywhere, never able to answer questions or
to reach a public phone, while pregnancies came
and were brutally ended, inevitable as the rapes.
Tell me, Persephone, that Hades was not like this,
that the lord of the dead was a kindlier kidnapper,
a more gracious host, at least once you were out
of the sunlight and safely in his realm.
Tell me that you have never been raped, that
your own father did not force himself upon you,
that you did not mourn the death of a son
taken away and torn apart–or if you cannot
tell me this, then tell me that the Furies await
the kidnappers and the rapists, those who traffic
in women and children, that you will bear witness
to their suffering and make it prolonged in honor
of all those women and children down the centuries
who had no one to witness theirs.

The Day of the Mysteries: To Persephone

For generations now this mystery has been lost
that we long for: A Mother. Her Daughter.
The grain. The fruit. A cry in the night.
A light in the darkness. And a child, a boy.
Your mother’s son, or yours?

Daughter of the grain, wife of the shadows,
queen and savioress, your face is my mirror.
I am my mother’s daughter and my daughter’s
mother, my husband’s wife, my father’s duty.
I am my self, none other, agatha tyche, divine
juno, sovereign queen.

I pray to Persephone, daughter of the Mother,
queen of the underworld, goddess in two worlds.
I pray to Demeter, mother of an only daughter,
giver of the grain, the old woman who grieved.
And I pray to Iakkhos, the mysterious Child,
Son of two Mothers, Dionysus, Bacchus, Antinous.

A cry in the night. A light in the darkness. The grain.
The fruit. A mirror held by two goddesses. A boy,
a mortal, a god. Demophoon in the fire,
Triptolemus in the field, Antinous with a spear.
The mystery we have longed for. The whole
world holds its breath. The sacred way is opened.

The Day of the Mysteries: To Demeter

For years I turned my face from you and barred you from my door;
like my own mother’s, your picture was never on my mantel.
Each year I waited for Persephone to leave you
so I could talk to her privately in the house of Hades,
away from your winter chill and your endless demands for growth.
I kicked the fallen leaves defiantly and did not call you
at Christmas, to give you an invitation you would surely
have refused. When the earth began to stir again, I called
to Dana of the heavens, her river of stars snaking through
all the rivers of earth. I felt the earth’s age in my bones.
Like your daughter, I would never again be Kore.

And then one day, looking at the phone on which
my daughter never calls me, I saw my face
in your round bronze mirror and it was my mother’s face
and yours. The girl I helped to raise turned into a woman
I don’t know, with an unpronounceable name, who lives
in a house she doesn’t want me to visit in a place
I can’t get to. And I am alone. O Demeter, Demeter,
did you always know this would happen? Is there
a place for me in your kitchen, a cup of tea,
a piece of toast? The days are growing shorter,
the nights are growing cooler, and my daughter
never calls.