An excellent and very moving addition to the celebration of Mother Night here.
Thank you so much, PSVL!
G this week, is for god.
Which god, you ask?
Sabazios (Sabazius in Latin), the Thracian Horseman, comes to mind. There are a number of excellent writings on Himself, and His worship, throughout the ancient Near East in the forms of various horse-riding deities and saints, warriors and serpents. It’s even possible to see His imagery in the common Ptolemaic (and earlier Egyptian) images of Horus spearing a hippo or crocodile from horseback, that eventually morphed into Mari Girgis or Saint George, Egypt’s patron saint.
Today, my Anomalous Thracian brother shared a link to P. Sufenas Virius Lupus’ most recent and most beautiful hymn to the Horseman with me, and I knew that I had to share it with you. For those who don’t link well, I hope that PSVL doesn’t mind if I share it with you here.
P. Sufenas Virius Lupus
Upon his horse, he defeats serpents,
horned and hooded, vipers and pythons,
but upon the earth and within it
he is the Serpent Itself.
He passes, golden, between the breasts
of the initiates, through their hearts,
and emerges below, whether male or female
or neither, from the region of their sexes.
The burrows through the earth he makes
are the trackways to Hades and Tartaros;
the ways he clears through our hearts
are devotion and virtue and good speech.
Thracians have known this for centuries;
Bithynians and Phrygians as well,
Karians and Lykians and far-off Scythians,
Keltoi and Galatians, and even the Greeks.
Through Meroe of Nubia and Egypt,
the Samothracian isles, and ancient Canaan,
through the marbled streets of Rome
and the forests of Gaul and Germania.
From the pristine landscapes of Hyperborea
to the titan-haunted halls of Olympus
the fame of Sabazios as serpent
is older than Chronos and Kairos.
His flitting tongue upon ears
is the beginnings of prophecy;
his venom in the veins
is intoxication and madness;
his coiling around the finger
is mastery of spear and sword;
his trampling underfoot
is the beginning of liberation.
(But is it the hero who tramples him
or is it he who tramples himself?
Only the eyes of a shadow can see it,
can know it with certainty.)
Through the breasts of gods, even,
he has wound his serpentine way…
therefore, for him this day
may offerings and praise be gathered!
Dele Mezenai, Horseman bless, each and every one of you.
“Purity is piety, honesty, and fear of the gods.”
– inscription on the walls of the Ptolemaic-era temple of Horus, Edfu, Egypt
“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past me I will turn to see fear’s path. When the fear has gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
– the Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear, quoted by Frank Herbert in Dune
“I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep. I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.”
– Alexander III “the Great” of Makedon
Fear is an important concept for the modern-day Pagan who embraces the chthonic traditions of Thrace. To the Greeks, a titanismos was a Thracian battle-hymn so fierce, so filled with the terror of the sons and daughters of Nyx, that the Thracians’ enemies would simply turn and flee, if they weren’t frozen to the spot. And of Titanismos as the modern acknowledgment of our Titanic progenitors, our brother the Anomalous Thracian is fond of saying: “This is Titanismos. You should run.”
What does it really mean to have “fear of the gods,” as the Egyptian inscription instructs Horus’s priests to have? Can fear ever be a positive thing, particularly related to the idea being afraid of the Divine? What about other kinds of fear? Are they a force to be avoided, or, as the Litany quoted above suggests, could they become a weapon to use to our benefit?
A modern hymn to Most Ancient Night, in honor of Her holiday.
Thank you, P. Sufenas, for sharing this on your blog, and for letting me know you’d be posting it!
(And with permission, the poem itself is reproduced here:)
To Nyx (P. Sufenas Virius Lupus)
I sing to you, queen before the heavens existed,
firstborn of goddesses, daughter of Chaos,
lady undaunted, her dark cloak overpowering all.
Every star in the firmament is but a fraction
of the beauty of your coronet, complete in constellations,
and the firmament itself is your thin tiara.
Pythagoras could not count the diamonds in your diadem,
nor could he calculate a single harmony of the spheres
which whirl and sing to you upon your ineffable skin.
There is no god on the earth nor goddess in the heavens
who does not exist enclosed within your blackness,
first goddess, eldest queen, dark lady over all–hail to you!
From the Orphic Hymns, translated by Taylor, 1792.
The Fumigation with Torches.
Night [Nyx], parent goddess, source of sweet repose,
from whom at first both Gods and men arose,
Hear, blessed Venus [Kypris], deck’d with starry light,
in sleep’s deep silence dwelling Ebon night!
Dreams and soft case attend thy dusky train,
pleas’d with the length’ned gloom and fearful strain.
Dissolving anxious care, the friend of Mirth,
with darkling coursers riding round the earth.
Goddess of phantoms and of shadowy play,
whose drowsy pow’r divides the nat’ral day:
By Fate’s decree you constant send the light
to deepest hell, remote from mortal sight.
For dire Necessity which nought withstands,
invests the world with adamantine bands.
Be present, Goddess, to thy suppliant’s pray’r,
desir’d by all, whom all alike revere,
Blessed, benevolent, with friendly aid
dispell the fears of Twilight’s dreadful shade.
The Fumigation from Storax.
Etherial father, mighty Titan, hear,
great fire of Gods and men, whom all revere:
Endu’d with various council, pure and strong,
to whom perfection and decrease belong.
Consum’d by thee all forms that hourly die,
by thee restor’d, their former place supply;
The world immense in everlasting chains,
strong and ineffable thy pow’r contains
Father of vast eternity, divine,
O mighty Saturn [Kronos], various speech is thine:
Blossom of earth and of the starry skies,
husband of Rhea, and Prometheus’ wise.
Obstetric Nature, venerable root,
from which the various forms of being shoot;
No parts peculiar can thy pow’r enclose,
diffus’d thro’ all, from which the world arose,
O, best of beings, of a subtle mind,
propitious hear to holy pray’rs inclin’d;
The sacred rites benevolent attend,
and grant a blameless life, a blessed end.
The Fumigation from Aromatics.
Hear me, illustrious father, dæmon fam’d.
Great Saturn’s [Kronos’] offspring,
and Sabasius [Zabazios] nam’d;
Inserting Bacchus, bearer of the vine,
and founding God, within thy thigh divine,
That when mature, the Dionysian God
might burst the bands of his conceal’d abode,
And come to sacred Tmolus, his delight,
where Ippa dwells, all beautiful and bright.
Come blessed Phrygian God, the king of all,
and aid thy mystics, when on thee they call.
The Fumigation from a Poppy.
Sleep [Hypnos], king of Gods, and men of mortal birth,
sov’reign of all sustain’d by mother Earth;
For thy dominion is supreme alone,
o’er all extended, and by all things known.
‘Tis thine all bodies with benignant mind
in other bands than those of brass to bind:
Tamer of cares, to weary toil repose,
from whom sweet solace in affliction flows.
Thy pleasing, gentle chains preserve the soul,
and e’en the dreadful cares of death controul;
For Death [Thanatos] and Lethe with oblivious stream,
mankind thy genuine brothers justly deem.
With fav’ring aspect to my pray’r incline,
and save thy mystics in their works divine.
The Fumigation from Aromatics.
Thee I invoke, blest pow’r of dreams [Oneiroi] divine,
angel of future fates, swift wings are thine:
Great source of oracles to human kind,
when stealing soft, and whisp’ring to the mind,
Thro’ sleep’s sweet silence and the gloom of night,
thy pow’r awakes th’ intellectual fight;
To silent souls the will of heav’n relates,
and silently reveals their future fates.
For ever friendly to the upright mind
sacred and pure, to holy rites inclin’d;
For these with pleasing hope thy dreams inspire,
bliss to anticipate, which all desire.
Thy visions manifest of fate disclose,
what methods best may mitigate our woes;
Reveal what rites the Gods immortal please,
and what the means their anger to appease:
For ever tranquil is the good man’s end,
whose life, thy dreams admonish and defend.
But from the wicked turn’d averse to bless,
thy form unseen, the angel of distress;
No means to cheek approaching ill they find,
pensive with fears, and to the future blind.
Come, blessed pow’r, the signatures reveal
which heav’n’s decrees mysteriously conceal,
Signs only present to the worthy mind,
nor omens ill disclose of monst’rous kind.
The Fumigation from Manna.
Hear me, O Death [Thanatos], whose empire unconfin’d,
extends to mortal tribes of ev’ry kind.
On thee, the portion of our time depends,
whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends.
Thy sleep perpetual bursts the vivid folds,
by which the soul, attracting body holds:
Common to all of ev’ry sex and age,
for nought escapes thy all-destructive rage;
Not youth itself thy clemency can gain,
vig’rous and strong, by thee untimely slain.
In thee, the end of nature’s works is known,
in thee, all judgment is absolv’d alone:
No suppliant arts thy dreadful rage controul,
no vows revoke the purpose of thy soul;
O blessed pow’r regard my ardent pray’r,
and human life to age abundant spare.