Antinous for Everybody

Archive for the tag “antinous”

An Invocation to Antinous Bakkheios

O Antinous Dionysus!

Your votaries call out to you, for we are tired.

We are weary. We are thirsty. Our limbs are heavy.

Our hearts are heavier. Our spirits sink.

We labor and we struggle, we sleep

and wake unrefreshed to labor and struggle more.

O Antinous Dionysus, Antinous Epiphanes,

Come to us now! Come to us, Antinous Bakkheios!

We are parched and in need of refreshment.

Come and bring us the wine of your joy,

The joy of living, the zest for life!

Come and loosen our limbs for the dance,

Straighten our backs that have been bent in our labors,

Widen our shoulders that have hunched over computers,

Free our hips and our asses that our minds may follow.

Come and dance with us, bring us the blessing

Of fellowship, the mood of the party,

The lubrication of intoxication. Join hands with us

That we may join hands with one another

And celebrate all that is good, all beauty

And pleasure, tastes and scents, the body

And the earth, that which grows and dies

And lives again, the tenacious vine and

The sleek, ravenous animal in ourselves

And in the world, all of your blessings,

Antinous, Antinous Dionysus, Antinous Bakkheios!

IO EVOHE!

(Written for the Bakkheion in honor of Antinous at Many Gods West 2017, at the request of Jay Logan.)

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The Declaration of Antinous the Justified

I am Antinous. I am Osiris. I am Antinous the Justified.

 

I am the one who was lost and found himself.

I am the one who was drowned and breathed again.

I am the one whom Hapi took and Isis gave back again.

Where the red lotus bloomed, I have died,

And now I live again for ever.

 

I have not done the things which ought not to be done.

My heart has been weighed in the hall of Ma’at and pronounced pure.

Anubis has justified me. The forty-two judges have justified me.

Osiris has justified me and given me his crook and flail.

 

I have passed by the white cypress tree and the spring that flows beneath it.

Child of earth and heaven, I have drunk from the water of Memory,

And I know my true name, which is

ASKION KATASKION LIX TETRAX

DAMNAMENEUS AISIA ENDASION.

I have the favor of Persephone, the dread queen,

And with Hades’ blessing I walk in the groves of Elysium.

With the wings and the staff of Hermes,

The Messenger, the Guide of the Dead,

I come and go as I please.

 

Like a kid I have fallen into milk.

Like grapes I have been crushed and fermented and poured into wine.

Like a goat I have been torn apart and devoured

And discovered and assembled anew.

I have found myself and lost myself in the dance.

I bear the thyrsus of Dionysus and wear his ivy crown and leopard pelt.

 

I have ascended on high from the deepest depth.

I have vanquished the archons and mounted the heights

In the Boat of Millions of Years.

I have adorned Aquarius and the stars of the Eagle.

I have shone my light in healing and prophecy like Apollon.

He has given me his lyre that I may play for the Muses.

With Orion and his hounds I have hunted the heavens,

The earth, and the underworld. I am welcome in every place.

 

I have passed the seven gates of Ereshkigal

And returned to shine with the dawn.

I was in the tomb of Jesus and at the banquet of his consummation.

I have entered the domain of Hel and brought forth my bride Melinoe.

There is no place where I have not been welcomed

And no place where my star cannot guide.

I am Antinous Osiris the Justified, Antinous Hermes

The Guide, Antinous Dionysus and Antinous Apollon,

Child of earth and starry heaven,

Beautiful, just, benevolent.

(This was written for the rites held for Antinous at Many Gods West 2017, at the request of Jay Logan.)

POEM: The Eagle’s Star

Antinous rises tonight
Tonight he bestrides the constellations,
bridging Aquarius and Aquila
Heralded by Muses and poets,
he ascends the heavens
to claim the Boat of Millions of Years
The archons of the underworld are defeated
Their perversions no match for his terrible beauty
Fear and hatred, greed and lust
flee from the light of his countenance
Hail, Antinous! Star of beauty in the night sky!
Hail, Antinous! Navigator of the celestial Barque!
Hail, Antinous! You are the journey, you are the guide,
you yourself are the destination!
Hail, Antinous! The beautiful boy rises in the east!

POEM: A hymn for the winter solstice

The longest night, the shortest day
Each year it comes and goes its way
The bleak midwinter blest with feasts
To joy the greatest and the least

The newborn light becomes a boy
His mother’s pride, the whole world’s joy
The gods immortal come to earth
In mortal flesh for mortal mirth

Here Jesus sleeps with ox and ass
As one by one the shepherds pass
To worship him the angels sang
On whom the coming centuries hang

Antinous puts on the crown
That Dionysus handed down
Of ivy, grape, and fragrant pine
And bids us to the feast with wine

While Hercules, the victor strong,
Cries, “Io, Io!” with the throng
And Angerona has the right
To keep us silent for a night

So let us keep our flames alight
Through shortest day and longest night
And hold each other, heart and hand,
Till spring spreads forth throughout the land.

Requiem for the trans dead, movement six

VI. Libera me

O Antinous the Liberator, deliver us.

Deliver the living from transphobia

and the trans dead from their fears.

Deliver the living from the fear of Eros

and the trans dead from their unrequited loves.

Deliver the living from the tyranny of gender roles

and the trans dead from the tyranny of the body.

Deliver the living and the dead alike from all evils

that would harm the body, that would assault

and deform the soul. O Antinous, liberate us!

 

May Panprosdexia free the minds of the living

and the souls of the trans dead.

May Panhyle free the bodies of the living

and the remains of the trans dead.

May Paneros free the hearts of the living

and the hearts of the trans dead.

May Pancrates burn the bonds of the living

and likewise of the trans dead.

May Paneris contest with all hatred among the living

and defend and protect the trans dead.

May Panprosdexia succor the living

and find all the trans dead, wherever they may be,

and lead them home to the light.

In the world but not of it

I don’t talk about politics much. It’s not interesting to me as a topic, unlike religion, or space exploration, or birds. That doesn’t meant it’s not important to me, however. After yesterday’s election here in the United States, I am dismayed, I am angry, and I am afraid, not so much for myself as for friends who are more obviously not the white cis hetero norm than I am.

What has dominated my thoughts this morning, oddly enough, is a phrase from my Christian background, the phrase I chose for my title: In the world but not of it. By “the world” Christian theology properly means not nature, the created world, the cosmos, but the human-created world, society and its distorted values. Early Christians lived in a society that cherished very different values from their own, so much so that they were identified as atheists, dissidents, terrorists. A good deal of the ethical teaching in Paul’s letters is his reminding his audience of that, mixed with a certain amount of respectability politics.

The first two or three generations of Christians refused to identify themselves as Jews or Gentiles, slaves or masters, citizens or subjects of Rome. They called themselves citizens of that kingdom of heaven that Jesus had said was within each person; they imagined a new Jerusalem, a perfect city, an ideal community where their values were the norm.

That’s how I’m feeling this morning. I am in this nation, but not of it. I do not belong here. My black friends, my gay and lesbian friends, my queer and trans friends, my Jewish and polytheist and pagan friends don’t belong here. That’s what the election results say to me. Never mind that the very real problems of our country were caused not by any of them, not by Mexicans or Muslims, but by rich and still greedy white men like the one who was just elected, men who have nothing but contempt for women, for people of color, for people without wealth. We are in this nation, but not of it; our true citizenship is somewhere else, someplace we imagined was implied in the founding documents of the United States, however little the Founding Fathers may have realized it. Perhaps someday we can build our city here; I have not entirely given up hope.

In the meantime, I see my job as a writer as imagining alternatives. Other people can write the dystopias that now look like prophecies; my work will continue to celebrate possibilities. I’m calling my new Jerusalem, my kingdom of heaven, my true citizenship, Antinoopolis, the city that Hadrian built at the place where Antinous’ body was found. I am no longer pledging my allegiance to a divided nation where liberty and justice are available only to those who have the right gender, the right color of skin, and the requisite bank balance. I pledge my allegiance to Antinous and to the city where he is worshipped, a city open to all races, colors, creeds, genders, and sexualities where love, friendship, wisdom, and creative endeavor are cherished.

The Opening of the Mundus on Election Day

umbilicusurbi

In the name of Ceres,
goddess of the grain, giver of food,
protector of the poor,
defender of the rights of the plebes in Rome,
in the name of Ceres,
let the mundus be opened.
Let all the spirits fly out.
Let the dead come forth and have their say.
Let the privileged and the disenfranchised,
the rulers and the oppressed, speak their words today.
I call out the Founding Fathers,
Washington and Adams, Jefferson and Hamilton,
Franklin and Madison, and all the rest,
whose words carried greater ideals than they could embody.
I call out with them their wives and their daughters,
the black men and women they enslaved,
Abigail Adams side by side with Martha Washington
and with them Sally Hemings, equally our ancestors.
I call out the native peoples of this land
who saw guns and pestilence,
gifts given and treaties broken,
whose sons and daughters hold the line
against greed and lies to this very day.
I call out the Africans brought here as slaves,
worked to death with less care than animals,
raped and tortured, their sons and daughters
still walking in danger every day.
I call out the Chinese immigrants
who helped build the railroads,
the Irish and Italians who shaped New York,
the Jews who fled pogroms in Russia and
fled again when Hitler came to power.
I call on all the immigrants who came
to this continent looking for freedom,
whether they found misery or success.
I call on all whose labor made money
for greedy men. I call on the children
who worked in factories, losing limbs
and losing life. I call on the women
who held hands and leaped from the Triangle
building to escape the fires, because
the doors were locked to prevent them from stealing.
I call on the women who built guns and bombs
and cars and trucks while the men were at war,
who crunched the numbers and broke the codes
only to be shooed away into the kitchen
when the men came home from war.
I call on Martin and Malcolm and Muhammad Ali
and those who stood with them and marched with them.
Now at last let the disenfranchised dead have their say.
Now at last let them speak against the oppressor.
Now at last let their deaths be seen for what they were,
the spending of human lives to make money,
more for those who have much already,
profit for those whose greed knows no slaking,
power for those whose contempt makes them ugly.
Let the mundus be opened, let the dead come forth,
let the spirits speak freely, and let justice be done:
Let us atone for our past with a better future
where Ceres and Jove together bless the people
with good harvests, clean water, good weather,
abundant food and drink, where Minerva and
Apollo bless education and medicine for all,
where Mercury distributes information and goods
wherever they are needed, where Bacchus
is welcome and Antinous is lauded,
where all gods are honored, but no cult is privileged.
To these blessings I pledge my vote,
I ask the help of the gods, I ask the help of the dead,
I ask the help of the land itself on this Election Day.

Sacred Nights: Foundation Day 2016

Today he is a hero who has walked with knowledge into the underworld.

Today he is a daimon who quickens the earth to life and causes the river to rise and fructify the land.

Today he is a god, one with Osiris, enthroned with the gods of Egypt.

Today the gods of Kemet, Hellas, and Rome welcome him into their company, as his mortal remains are preserved with the honors once bestowed only on kings.

He is Antinous of Bithynia, son of Mantinoe, beloved of Hadrian. Dua Antnus! Khaire Antinoos! Ave Antinous! Hail, beautiful god! The Naos Antinoou is established in your honor.

antinous_osiris_louvre_2

Sacred Nights: The Death of Antinous

Death happens. Life goes on. How many people have died while I slept last night? How many more have died while I droned away at work? Death happens. Life goes on. The Nile keeps on flowing.

153446-004-926b6686

Sacred Nights: Ananke Antinoou

POEM: Necessity

Just another day when the alarm
doesn’t go off and you can’t afford
to be late for work though you don’t
really care, so you shower and run
and grab something on the way,
not really food, just
caffeine-protein-carbs
and you just make the train,
or maybe you just miss it
it isn’t raining yet, but it might
work is a checklist of things
you have said and done and
heard and read and endured before
dinner is something you bought
because you were too tired
to cook, almost too tired to eat
it’s raining now and everything’s
falling apart so you go to bed
and dream of a boy drifting
on a boat across the broad slow
waters of an ancient river
not knowing or not caring
how strong the current is

boatboy

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