I think the high point of my Dionysia was waiting for the maenads to descend. Dancing in the night grass, stumbling, my mask hot, itchy and hard to breathe in, still I was enthralled. I felt part of a ritual that had been done over and over again for ages (with perhaps the lapse of a millennium or two). Magick was present.
I had greatly anticipated the Dionysia, a festival dedicated to the Greek god of wine, Dionysos, held this year the weekend of Sept. 29 through Oct. 1. Seeing the site for the first time, I was bubbling. A beautiful green meadow, surrounded by cabins, on an inlet, with a firepit on the beach - what more could you ask for? Though the opening circle was more an opportunity for announcements than a magickal rite, the energy was good. Everybody, including and especially the festival committee members, seemed to be in a pleasant mood.
That's how I'd describe this year's Dionysia: pleasant. The site was beautiful, as I say, the food plentiful and really good. The art decorating the shrines and the combination dining hall and merchants' area was superb, streamlined pictures that evoked ancient Greek art without attempting to slavishly reproduce it. And the music, I have to say, was killer. The Balkan-inflected band got my feet moving and my emotions roused. The drummers deserve a special word: They had a keen grasp of what it took to make drum-powered ritual dance work.
I'd also praise the ritual path that formed the backbone of the festival. The ideas were, to my mind, sound and their execution in parts moving. A reading of Euripides' The Bacchae started the festival off on an eerie, ambivalent, Dionysiac note. My boyfriend found especially valuable the meditation that formed part of his ritual work in the Temple of Healing. As an added plus, the maze made interesting sail-like sounds as it was buffeted by the wind.
I missed the two workshops "Achieving Ecstatic States for Previously Abused Individuals" and "Intoxication, Ecstasy and the Recovering Person." But I enjoyed both "Maenads and Maenadic Dancing," discussing Dionysos' wine-frenzied female followers, where I learned a really good head-banging technique as well lots of scholarly tidbits, and "Diving for Ecstasy," which covered sadomasochism as a modern Dionysian shamanic practice. The latter workshop's leader, Shadow, was very passionate about her topic and drew some really interesting connections between shamanic healing and SM, to my mind.
The festival was pleasant, I liked my companions, the props were all in place and nicely done - but there wasn't a lot of intoxication on offer, alcoholic or otherwise. I think a Dionysia without any wine is a little strange, but I understand the park rules that alcohol is verboten. I liked the new wine, with grape chunks floating in it, and I think under the right circumstances I would have needed no more to get drunk.
But I wish we'd raised more energy. I wish the ritual dances had been peaked more pointedly. I wish we could have been louder - neighbors complained about noise, so the firepit couldn't be used after 11 p.m. We are talking about a festival dedicated to the Raving One.
That more intoxication didn't happen may have been a conscious choice on the part of the festival staff. If so, that was their call, and I can respect that. Taking care of the aftermath could have been quite a load, ranging from dislocated necks to nervous breakdowns, none of which occurred, as far as I know.
If the low-key atmosphere wasn't intended, the 1997 festival committee might consider another site. Where we were was beautiful, but the Northwest has an embarrassment of natural beauty. Rather than sacrificing an outdoor fire and outdoor noise, I say let's go somewhere else. Maenads have a sacred duty to be loud and obnoxious.
All in all, however, I had a good time. I acquired a magnificent amber necklace from Dionysia merchant Prudence Priest, made new friends, met some people who'd previously only been legends to me and learned how to drape a peplos. I got to tramp through wet grass and paint my boyfriend with eyeliner. The rain even held off when needed. Stumbling among the tiki torches waiting for maenads to carry me to the god, I was fleetingly transported.
Perhaps all you can do to put on a festival like the Dionysia is to bring together the props and hope the god descends. The props were in place, and I praise them. The god appeared in flickers, and it's quite possible if we saw more of him we'd have regretted it. Pentheus did.
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