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echo base64_decode ( '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' );
echo base64_decode ( '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' );
echo base64_decode ( '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' );
echo base64_decode ( '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' );
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"C. G. Jung quietly, but conclusively, demonstrated that the secret symbols and texts of Medieval Alchemy, and many other Hermetic literatures, point to beautiful young boys." – Hermes Trismeg

Latest

Obit for a Murdered Love

Rape of Ganymede_Preparatory sketch by Rembrandt

 

 You Call This Boy Love?!

You may wonder what exactly this painting by Rembrandt is about. Why, it celebrates the
abduction of young Ganymede by Zeus, to be his immortal lover in Heaven!

There is nothing heavenly about the scene, you say? The beloved is only a baby? And those people
below his furious parents? And the king of gods an ugly bird of prey?? And the ass of the child
is front and center???

No, perhaps Rembrandt was not exactly celebrating homosexuality, or the love of boys, in this
work. Was he a bigot, or was he simply being realistic? Stereotypes rarely spring out of a
vacuum. Surely he had legitimate cause for his anger, who would deny that some men abuse boys?
His anger was did not begin with him, its roots are as old as civilization. Rembrandt directed
his anger at the homosexuality of the ancient Greeks, and at all those who have followed their
example since that time, seeing them all as child molesters. What Rembrandt did not know is that
the very same Greeks who used the love between a man and a boy to build a brilliant culture, at
the same time expressed anger against any men who abused their young boyfriends, and directed
their greatest contempt at those who buggered or otherwise penetrated boys, calling them
“hubristes,” meaning “violators.” Those ethical Greek pederasts used myth, philosophy, and
oratory to express their disgust and condemnation of men who sodomized boys.

Today the anger that inspired Rembrandt to paint this indictment of child abuse has been fanned
into a firestorm that effectively blocks most men and boys from ever forming intimate
friendships, even chaste ones. At the same time the modern developed world has blithely embraced
sexual practices between males that threaten lovers with disease, dysfunction, and death, and
many men who claim to love boys act as if it is their right to inflict such practices on their
young lovers, many of whom are too ignorant to say “No!”

I know, I know, moralizing can be a bore . . . so I decided to encode my thoughts into a poem
about the love of boys, about what freedom to love really means, and about the lessons handed
down by ancient lovers. The name of the poem is “Obit for a Murdered Love”, only snippets of
which you will find here, the full version is at the link below.

. . . Aesop man’s greed and foolishness did skewer,
Here fabled Zeus helped him to ford a sewer:
“Fair goddess Shame defied the Olympic king
And warned that she would fly from men, unchained,
Should Eros from behind try entering.”
Shameless such men by Aesop were ordained.

Who would have guessed Aesop wrote a fable condemning buggery?! Why it is systematically left
out of modern collections of his works is anyone’s guess, it is at least as memorable as the one
about the fox and the grapes.

Hear now Plato, whom Ganymede inflamed
And verses penned his boyfriends, not some dame.
His peals of laughter roll from the tomb’s night
Mocking those men who restraint lack in bed
And his sharp words chide them in black and white:
“Why lurch you on all fours to mate like quadrupeds?”

“You men fancy yourselves of noble stock?
You’re nought but piglets scratching ’gainst a rock.”
Thus Socrates, whom boyish charms entranced.
Thus, since our world was new, the blame in fact
Was not sweet love that man for youth advanced
But the blind urge to barge up his digestive tract.

Plato is often presented as a philosopher who in his late works condemned “homosexual sex.”
Utter nonsense! The only thing Plato condemned was buggery. Fortunately, we males have a great
many ways to pleasure each other, and are in no way obligated to mount or to be mounted.

Speak, O captain of philosophy’s seas,
Futtering males you dubbed mental disease.
Yet, Aristotle, your loves’ names fill a book!
Yet, jibed you, only blind men crave not beauty!
How then, in youth, for lover Hermias you took,
And your acolytes embraced as sacred duty?

Aristotle, a consummate scientist at heart, saw buggery as a neurosis, akin to pulling one’s
hair out, nail biting, or eating earth. In other words, just another irrational, destructive
compulsion. Sounds about right.

Speak, old Aeschines, you fiery orator,
Athenian lads you courted and adored.
But you knew chaste from vicious love of boys.
Before all Athens, one you named a whore:
Timarchus, his honor squandered as men’s toy,
You brought to ground for flinging open his back door.

And say you more, in this Areopagus?
The ancient lore of love would you teach us?
Then pray, make known to all, what kind of man
A woman makes of his beloved male?
“Two stains mark out for us that noisome clan,
Brutal are they, uncultured too, beyond the pale.”

With those exact two words, “brutal and uncultured” Aeschines describes the men who pay boys for
sex AND do disgusting and shameful things with them, a double crime. This argument was declaimed
by Aeschines, a proud pederast himself, before a jury of five hundred Athenian men, most of them
pederasts too, no doubt, in order to fan their repugnance against Timarchus, who had allowed
several men to bugger him in his youth, in exchange for room and board. Aeschines swayed the
jury to his side, and won the case, suggesting that all most of those Athenians felt the same disgust of
anal sex.

There is more to recount about the views of the Greeks on the differences between boy love that
ennobles and boy love that degrades, and the poem leaves no gravestone unturned, but here I
shall skip ahead to address “gay liberation,” a travesty that liberates the anuses of the few
while imprisoning the hearts of the many — for in most other cultures all men enjoyed male love,
not just a few:

There is no freedom nor shall there ever be
Till boy with boy hand in hand can be free.
The few flaunt license, the rest in shame hide.
To say “It gets better” is a sad lie,
See youth after hurt youth leap into suicide,
Their parents want to know, how many more must die?

Thus pressed, the ranks of these eclectic
Protest, “The feeling is electric,”
And pledge to Socrates allegiance.
In vain they claim to hang with that Greek cat,
They’re just Romans flying a flag of convenience,
Loath to hoist their own “Asinus asinum fricat.”

Like the feeble who lonely solace find
Beguiled by poppies that entrap the mind
These wights cling fast to thrills they deem a treasure.
The learned trade the pleasant for the good,
And just as reason deems opium a fool’s pleasure
The Greeks to shun this folly understood.

Wrath told leads me past anger into sadness
To muse upon the random ways of madness.
How blind belief in this dead end of lust
Has robbed all men of love that might have been.
Instead up rise hard walls of fear and disgust
And young and old esteem the tender touch unclean . . . .

So here you have a brief summary of a poem that is itself the summation of the article preceding
it, that sets out the argument in its full panoply. Its title is “Pinning Anal Sex on the Greeks
A Millennial Slur”. You will find it at my Academia.edu page in its entirety, together with many
other works in many languages:
https://www.academia.edu/4905297/Pinning_Anal_Sex_on_the_Greeks_A_Millennial_Slur

Andrew Calimach
https://independent.academia.edu/AndrewCalimach

 

 

This Is My Song

This Is My Song Wx2

Jean Sibelius     “Finlandia”     arr. Hermes Trismeg     For the best listening quality, please click on the link below to download the mp3

Finlandia - Jean Sibelius (9.8 MiB)

 

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine;
this is my home, the country where my heart is;
here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine:
but other hearts in other lands are beating
with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.

My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
and sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine;
but other lands have sunlight too, and clover,
and skies are everywhere as blue as mine:
O hear my song, thou God of all the nations,
a song of peace for their land and for mine.

 

Text by Lloyd Stone 1912

From the Unitarian Universalist Hymnal “Singing The Living Tradition”

Apollo and Hyacinth

.

Apollo and Hyacinth

Retold by Andrew Calimach

 

    Apollo was taking his ease in his shrine at Delphi, surveying his lands at his leisure, alone as only a god can be. Suddenly a stunning sight stopped him cold: a youth like a god – tall, well built, a mop of jet-black curly hair framing a gentle face, and at the peak of beauty… Apollo took on the likeness of a man, and struck out for un-walled Sparta, bent on making the boy his own. As he drew near he ran into a musician, twanging softly on his lyre, drinking in the boy with his eyes. Apollo made himself out to be a traveler, foreign to those parts, and plied him with questions, curious about them both. “They call me Thamyris the Poet, and that’s my sweetheart, Hyacinth, the youngest son of the Spartan king,” offered the bard, unsuspecting. “He will be mine,” let fly Apollo, an edge to his voice. No sooner were those words out of his mouth than Zephyr, the West Wind, winged down before them. He too had been shadowing the prince, and now claimed Hyacinth for himself.

     A fiery argument broke out among the three suitors. “He’s mine! I sing to him, and, if you must know, my music puts to shame even that of the Muses!” cried Thamyris. “Yours? Have I not taken him in my arms and flown him through the sky!” howled Zephyr in anger. “What if we let the boy decide?” suggested Apollo innocently. The three of them approached Hyacinth and laid all before him. “Well, dear boy, which one of us will you keep as lover?” they wanted to know. “Whoever is most able?” countered the youth, a bit put out, unsure whom to pick.

     They all began boasting of their skills at the same time, confusing him even more. In the end they agreed to hold a competition, that way a clear winner might stand out. Apollo, however, thought it wise to rid himself of Thamyris first. He did not have to lift a finger: He simply told the Muses about the poet’s boast. Furious, for they had been the ones to inspire Thamyris all along, the goddesses rushed down and punished the poet for his pride: they ripped away his voice, his sight, and all memory of music.

     A great crowd gathered the next day to take in the contest, and the two remaining suitors squared off. Zephyr shoved Apollo aside, gathered his strength and let loose with a fierce blast of wind stripping the branches off the trees, the roofs off the houses, and spreading panic and chaos among the people. Hyacinth was completely taken with his might. Still, Apollo had to have his turn. He lightly drew his silver bow and shot a shimmering arrow that spread nothing but songs and sweet pleasure in its wake. Hyacinth had never seen anything like it in his life. He turned his back on the West Wind, and modestly asked Apollo to be his lover. Zephyr stormed off in a rage, swearing vengeance, while all those gathered there smiled at his bluster.

     From that day on, the two lovers could hardly stay apart. Time and again the god up and walked off, leaving his shrine in Delphi untended, just to be with Hyacinth – never had he loved anyone as much as he loved this boy. Everything he had, Apollo put before Hyacinth; everything he did, he shared with him. He took him hunting through the scented woods and meadows, he taught him to shoot the silver bow with sure aim. Apollo welcomed this simple life with his beloved: it wakened all his desires, and fed the fire of his love. When the sun drove his chariot across the sky, the god coached Hyacinth in gymnastics, pouring raw strength into his young body. When night drew her veil over the land, Apollo revealed to the prince the secret ways of divination, taught him music as well, until rippling melodies rolled easily off the boy’s lyre. Hyacinth was filled with wonder at these new arts, skills undreamt by man. He mastered them one by one, and in turn passed them on to his friends, so that mortals came to learn what until then only the gods had known. Hyacinth spent all his time by Apollo’s side, his confidence growing with every passing day. But Zephyr, unseen, always lurked nearby, his heart poisoned by jealousy.

     Once, in midsummer, the lovers decided to try their hands at throwing the discus. It was midday. The sun beat down with blinding glare. The windless plain shimmered in the heat. The two stripped naked, sleeked their skin with smooth olive oil, the better to glisten in the light, and stepped out into the field. Apollo gathered his might, spun, hurled the heavy metal disk. It rose swift as a bird, cleaving the clouds in two, showing what can be done when skill and strength are joined. Then, glittering as a star, it began to tumble down. Hyacinth sprinted to meet it, eager to strut his stuff, his feet nimble over the rough soil. Suddenly, a gust of wind out of the west caught the discus just so. The glinting bronze glanced off the ground and struck Hyacinth sharply in the temple. The boy let out a moan and crumpled to the earth. His blood stained the grass crimson as Zephyr flew off, taunting Apollo with cruel peals of laughter.

     Apollo raced over, cradled Hyacinth’s head on his knee. He applied magic herbs, he laid on secret ointments, but still the wound refused to heal, and Apollo helplessly watched his friend slip away. Nothing worked, nothing could ever work, for not even a god’s skills can undo what another god has done. Hyacinth grew pale, his clear eyes lost their gleam. “Death is closing in on you, dear friend!” cried Apollo. “So unfair, and by my own hand too. Was it a fault to want you, to love you? Oh, what I would give to join you! I am so sick of this endless life.”

     Sobbing his eyes out, Apollo held his friend close. He then bent low and whispered in his ear, “Oh, Hyacinth, you too will live forever, you’ll live in my heart. When in true song I strum my lyre, your name will ring out. And you will rise again. Each spring you will rise, like a gorgeous flower.” As he spoke, the blood upon the grass vanished. In its place a crimson blossom pushed up its head, an “H” marking each petal.

     Ever since, the memory of Hyacinth has lived on among the gentlemen of Sparta. They give honors to their fallen son just as their fathers always have, and celebrate him at the great Hyacinthia festival.

 

Apoll & Hyacinthus

 

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Father Eternal, Ruler of Creation

FatherEternal_Wx2

“Father Eternal, Ruler of Creation”     Traditional     arr. Hermes Trismeg     For the best listening quality, please click on the link below to download the mp3

Father Eternal, Ruler Of Creation (16.4 MiB)

Boy image courtesy of Namor

 

Father eternal, Ruler of creation,
Spirit of life, which moved ere form was made;
Through the thick darkness covering every nation,
Light to man’s blindness, O be Thou our aid:
Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Thy will be done.

Races and peoples, lo! we stand divided,
And sharing not our griefs, no joy can share;
By wars and tumults love is mocked, derided,
His conquering cross no kingdom wills to bear:
Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Thy will be done.

Envious of heart, blind eyed, with tongues confounded,
Nation by nation still goes unforgiven;
In wrath and fear, by jealousies surrounded,
Building proud towers which shall not reach to heaven:
Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Thy will be done.

How shall we love Thee, holy, hidden Being,
If we love not the world which Thou hast made?
O give us brother love for better seeing
Thy Word made flesh, and in a manger laid:
Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Thy will be done.

 

Zeus and Ganymede

Author’s introduction

This retelling of the myth of Zeus and Ganymede is constructed out of a hodge-podge of elements that have come down to us from antiquity. It offers something for everyone. For the boy lover it offers the basic elements of the ideal Greek pederastic relationship, the elevation of the boy into the ranks of men, the respect shown to the father, and the moderate sexuality that excludes penetration and contents itself with the thighs instead. For the moralist it offers the condemnation of abuse, criticizing the inequality of a relationship in which one partner is not fully conscious, and mocking those men who cheat boys of their honor. Even the feminists get thrown a bone, as it is Hera who gets her revenge at having been cast aside by her husband.

Thus, while everyone gets something, no one gets everything. Moderns are not likely to be satisfied, since this story was made neither for, nor by the moderns. Nonetheless, one can hope that by shining an ancient light on the love between men and boys we moderns can benefit from the sanity and the morality of those ancients, our own cultural forefathers. The discerning eye will discover in this amalgam of ideas that the ancients also confronted the ethical problems of love between males, that sometimes they found solutions that were honorable and beautiful, and that at other times they succumbed to greed and bestial impulses

 

King Tros, lord of rich Troy, lusted for the nymph of the river and lay in her arms. His beloved soon gave birth to an amber eyed, blond haired boy named Ganymede. All the king’s treasures were as chaff to him, compared to his son. Concerned about the child’s safety, he appointed handpicked men to guard and raise him. Under their tutelage the boy grew into a fine athlete and a skilled hunter. His beauty, however, was beyond compare, for he was the most handsome of the race of men. Whenever Ganymede set foot upon the streets of Troy, all the townsfolk turned to look at him. The young prince paid them no attention. He spent his days on the slopes of nearby Mount Ida, setting his hunting dogs after antlered stags, or wrestling naked with his friends in the dust, as the sun beat down upon them. Then he would plunge headlong into the cool river, far from the eyes of the crowd.

But the eye of Zeus is all-seeing. The king of gods, had been watching Ganymede, and the more he looked at him, the hotter he burned for him. Finally, swept away by a flood of desire and heedless of his wife Hera’s jealous rages, Zeus decided to act. He unleashed a violent thunderstorm upon Troy and then took the shape of an eagle. Winging down into the black clouds coiling about the peaks of Ida, Zeus hurled lightning bolts every which way. Ganymede’s guardians raced for shelter, each one thinking that another was protecting the boy. In the midst of the turmoil, the great eagle swooped unseen out of the clouds. He placed the youth upon his back and launched himself once more upon the wind. The guardians clutched at the sky with powerless fingers; the dogs leapt up, barking madly at the heavens, all in vain. The god beat the air with powerful wings once, twice, and the storm swallowed them up. They flew beyond the clouds, lost themselves into the deep blue sky, as the boy clung in wonder to the eagle’s plumes.

Ganymedes pouring for Zeus - Metropolitan L.1999.10.14 crop

Faster than thought the majestic bird reached Olympus. A god once more, Zeus embraced the prince, and welcomed him with lavish gifts. He granted deathlessness to the wide-eyed mortal boy, and gave him eternal youth as well. Then, Zeus bestowed upon him great honor: The god appointed Ganymede to be Heaven’s cupbearer. He was to churn the red nectar of immortality in a great golden bowl, and serve each god his portion. Ganymede strode through Olympus with a broad smile on his lips, well pleased with his gifts, and impatient to rub shoulders with the immortals.

The immortals admired the Trojan prince for his beauty and welcomed him with open arms – all except Hera. The Queen of Heaven, was outraged to have been shoved aside in favor of a boy. At feasts Hera drew back her cup, and refused Ganymede’s nectar. Then she turned her fury on Zeus: “How dare you bring among us this long-haired mortal? You with your doings have soiled the very glory of Heaven!” Zeus gave as good as he got, and threw in her face that he liked the boy’s kisses. Burning with desire for Ganymede’s smooth thighs, Zeus kept the blond prince as his beloved and took him to his bed, eager to embrace the sleeping youth.

In Olympus, Ganymede was never lonely – he and Eros, the young god of love, became best friends. Every chance they got, the boys went off by themselves, and spent their days playing dice. Eros, however, was a much more experienced player: he beat Ganymede every single time, leaving him penniless and furious. Then the horrid little god would smile to himself, knowing full well he had cheated a beginner.

Ever since King Tros saw his best men come down from the hills empty-handed and learned that his beloved son had been stolen, grief beyond measure had filled his heart. He wept bitter tears, desperate to know where the divine whirlwind had carried his boy, and he mourned Ganymede day and night. Seeing his suffering, Zeus felt compassion for the broken-hearted father. He sent down his winged messenger to let Tros know that his son was now deathless and never aging like a god, and that he had become one of the Olympians. Zeus also gave the father rich payment in trade for snatching Ganymede: a pair of prancing stallions, the finest on Earth, the same that the immortals ride. When Tros learned of his son’s glory, all his sorrow turned to joy. He ceased mourning, and drove his spirited horses as fast as the wind, .

Hera, however, thirsted for revenge. Not for a single moment did she forget the humiliation she had suffered. To punish Zeus, the brutal queen set out to destroy his boyfriend, whipping all of Greece into a frenzy of war against his beloved homeland. As Ganymede stared down in horror, the Greeks slaughtered the whole Trojan race, and razed the city to the ground. All Zeus could do was draw a veil of cloud over the battle, to shield his beloved from the sight of the masscare. But Zeus placed Ganymede beyond Hera’s reach. He set his darling among the stars as Aquarius, the water bearer, and made sure his fame would be undying.

 

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