Initiation

No man on Earth has ever encountered a sure sign from God of things to come. The future is blind to him.

The League placed a heavy curse over the ruins of Kirrha so no-one would dare found a settlement there again. The burned, bare ground serves as permanent warning to anyone who thinks they have a right to control the Oracle, and the rich road to Delphi is kept safe for any man wishing to come here.

The length of that road bears witness to the pilgrims' devotion, through countless dedications and statues of the gods, watching from their bright or shaded places with the same implacable eyes. This is the holiest and most cultivated place on Earth and I am High Priestess, initiated at the first rising of the spring moon.

It was decided that the shadow of death had already passed by me in the underworld of the cave. My initiation ceremony was a triumphant occasion and all bore witness to the moment I partook of the Mysteries.

It was said that I should occupy a pivotal role before the turning point of history finally came, heralding a golden age in our civilization. I believed them until the moment I faced the one, whose music was greater than all I could muster.

Though I was restless for many days and nights prior to the event - and weak from fasting - when the moment of my transformation came I was filled with confidence and tranquility – the most profound sense of peace - as I became one with Psyche and entered her hallowed domain.

The High Priestess

The Saint responded anxiously while the maids melted away. “Sir, she has been in the service of this sanctuary since the moment of conception, nothing…”

The Tetrarch interrupted him. “Have no fear my friend, I do not at this moment intend to carry away the virgin bride of a god.” He laughed anew and smiled at me again with his sparkling eyes, whose meaning I could not discern. He put a hand on my guardian’s shoulder. “Rather than ruin us all I would rather commend the company of Saints for the cultivation of one so befitting of Apollo's grace. I believe we have found the natural replacement for she who departed in the black of night.”

He paused for a moment and his expression hardened. “They cannot possibly object now the Cretans are dead - all that has been asked of me I have fulfilled.”

“We must not speak of these things!" the Saint replied with a tortured whisper. "It has been a bloody night and we must make sacrifices for the dead. As for the girl, we should wait…..”

But everything, it seemed, had already been decided by the stranger who had touched me so deeply. “It is essential that the office be occupied by one who is loyal to the friends of Delphi and I believe this girl will remember well the way I saved her life. Besides,” he added more softly, looking over at me as he spoke, “it is only fitting for the counsel of Apollo to be given by a golden-haired maiden in his days of greatest glory.”

The Saint bowed his head by way of assent and I followed suit, without real comprehension of the scene I was somehow playing a part in - but it was not for me to question the ways and works of men.  All I knew was that when the Tetrarch departed I was rend in two by some sharp and hitherto unknown sorrow that would bind me to the weeping silver moon by a silken thread, destined only to wax and wane as he came and went throughout the years.

It was also shortly after this encounter that I became the high-priestess of Apollo, in accordance with his command. So it was that two great loves became intertwined in my Psyche for the whole of time.

Kingdom of Eternity

Once I was asked when he - Dionysus - first came here.

Who can say? I should have answered, for what is time to the kingdom of eternity? There are only hours of the day, seasons of the sun and cycles marked by the passage of the moon.

Most vehemently have I been warned by the Saints to never fall beneath the sway of time, because that would bring death to all prophecy. The pendulum might swing, but such as I must remain above it in a state of perfect balance.

Daily am I reminded that time is of no consequence and fate unfolds precisely as the gods command it. When this occurs is immaterial, the potential for all action being ever-present. We are chiefly concerned here with what is infinite, although men so often desire to make fixed points for the dead books they call history.

“For this reason”, my guardian Saint Timocrates informed me – quite pompously, in fact – when I questioned him on the matter, “the Amphictyonic League has taken it upon itself to regulate all calendars of the civilised world that we might subjugate for perpetuity the menace of time at the centre of the Earth.”

For the sake of the initial inquiry, however, it was sufficient to say that Dionysus comes at first sighting of the Pleiades, accompanied always by Euterpe, whose hypnotic sounds will soar over Parnassus from flutes poised like spears of moonlight on the muse’s lips.

What happens then, who can say? It is one of the mysteries we cannot share easily, for like dreams in the stillness of the night, memories of those days are as mist in the fire of morning.

The Temple

To the left of the house of Hades under a graceful white cypress a well offers spring water. Don’t drink there. Find the well by the lake of memory. Guardians protect the cold water. Tell them… 


I am standing in the centre of a great rectangular hall with my head held high and my long, bright hair wound into an elaborate arrangement that is held in place by a gleaming diadem. My white linen robe is bound with pure gold and I am standing still as a statue, with one eye fixed upon the future as the other observes what is past.

There is no wind beneath the temple roof and the air is warm, within and without. The only sounds that can be heard are an occasional bleating of goats and the distant murmuring of servants as they make ready for the Spring Council, which is to be held here in three and a half days.

I have already swept clean the marble floor and it shines like the full moon of Amalios. Mid-morning sunrays flood the hallowed space, infusing every atom. Narrow gaps between the thick, rounded pillars reveal sections of a motionless scene, silent as if time had ceased.

Happy are the men who enter this house and ask of me, “What do you see?”  The wisest make the best of the answer they are given, but many enlist the counsel of Saints  to assist with their understanding. Others seek more, but seldom to any avail, for there is a way that we do things at this place - the navel of the world - where the future is inscribed on lead.

I stand within the fourth Apollonian Temple to have been built here, which has undergone extensive and ongoing repair works following the War that almost destroyed it. The first Temple was much smaller than the present building and constructed from branches of Thessaly’s sacred laurel trees, while the next was created by bees of wax and feathers, designed to bridge the gap between Earth and the underworld.

Bees make the journey to and from Hades as a matter of course and the secrets they retrieve therein are for the golden ears of Apollo and his twin sister Artemis, the virgin huntress, keeper of the moon.

The third temple was a great bronze edifice, which stood for many years before the heat of the Sun God melted it back into the Earth. The fourth was built before I took up my office and the fifth shall be put on its foundations when I have left for the Elysium Fields.

Turtleshell Lyre

Standing on the outskirt of the forest, Hermes whispered a message to his light‐headed, wine‐loving friend: “Zeus’s twice‐born son, your time shall surely come. You are the living vine, for you the stars will shine”.

The wolf by Apollo’s side pricked up its ears and whined as his cold, beautiful master raised an arched eyebrow: “I am, Father, bringer of the cosmic light, voice of all reason and destroyer of dark night.….”

Zeus raised an eyebrow of his own. “How soon, I wonder, my great golden child, ’til you think yourself greater, even, than I?”

Apollo’s deer‐sister entreated him in an urgent voice. “Harness your pride, beloved brother, lest the chariot of the sun is struck down by lightening and the silver moon dies of grief! Then all shall witness this licentious youth sober in a second and sit upon thy gilded chariot!”

Apollo nodded slowly at the bull before him. “Ay, beloved sister of the moon, with his great, hairy hand upon my priceless goblet, while his sluts strum tuneless ditties upon the incomparable turtleshell lyre!”

Dionysus raised his cup to them and smiled: “You have my blessing, brother. I think not to steer the chariot of the sun, nor to take your hallowed place in heaven, I’d rather have a bit of fun….I shall keep the lyre, though, for the sound of music shall do much to make our mystery!”