This year’s vigil is at an end. All that remains is to print out the rituals and hymns to preserve in my book of practice. All that’s physical, at least. There is much I need to ponder, as well.
I know you exposed me to some of your mysteries. For a writer, that’s not difficult to discern; I tried writing down what you taught me, and then I tried to make sense of the words after the fact. Curiously, while I recognize that nothing coherent can be made of what I scrawled upon the page, that gibberish rekindles the fire you lit in my mind. The full understanding washes over me, triggered but not described by the letters I penned in the moment. Perhaps that was the purpose of the ear of corn to initiates of Eleusis.
Not all you revealed slips entirely free of language. I now have some inkling of your consort Posedeia, and recognize that her being all-but-forgotten may have been by design. Others may know something of she who was lost to history, or the impossible child which she did — and did not — bear you.Frankly, I expected none of this. This is the Vigil for the Bulls, after all, and bulls are about which I was prepared to ponder. On that topic, I am gobsmacked.
Well I know the myth of the Tauros Kretaios, the magnificent bull which Minos asked of you to ensure his kingship. Had he but sacrificed it as he was expected, many significant events would never have been spun out by the Moirae. Now I hold a new version of that tale in my head, one which adds depth to Minos’ betrayal, and a bittersweet dimension to all which resulted from his desire to own that beast, rather than cede it back to you.
I was led to believe that this is a vigil at the intersection of politics and practice, an opportunity to bear witness to the grief you feel over the terrible choices humans have made. I did not understand that joining a god in grief opens pathways to other regrets. I did not understand that to share your sorrow is to bear my own. I did not understand that I might gain from this service.
The ocean is heavy, and the earth heavier still. Never could I bear the full weight you carry, Poseidon; Atlas himself might shy from that burden. That you allowed me to even glimpse the scope of what is upon your vast shoulders is both an honor and a challenge. I pray I am worthy of both.
Your humble priest,