The equinox is a liminal time, ideal for a liminal god. Poseidon was given the portion which is neither above nor below. He is Domatites, of the doorway which stands between here and there. He is Epaktaios, of the coastline between realms of land and sea, both of which comprise his domain.
I brought my offerings to my outdoor shrine to Poseidon, a mossy patch from which his metal face emerges. Here, he is holder of the earth, plant-nourisher, the reason why I have adored green man iconography for as long as I can remember.
Barley, and wine mixed with water, because that’s tradition going way back. My equinox prayer to Poseidon (which is in Depth of Praise but has never been published online), because he wouldn’t have asked me to write it if he didn’t intend for me to use it. Another offering of barley, this mixed with roast coffee beans, because it’s referenced in the prayer but this would be the first opportunity to follow those instructions.
Inside, the daily offerings to Hestia Caffeina also change: now comes coffee with the barley. In a few months, the barley will be abandoned and she will receive only dark, chthonic offerings to reflect the darkest time of year.
Now does Phytalmius turn to sleep, and the icy breath of Glacius begins to quicken. This balancing point signals that the Poseidalia is closer at hand than I can possibly believe. Perhaps this year shall be the one in which I invite others to celebrate with me.