EC 472 Hiermalgamated History
Change the World! Think It Through! Do not Vote!
© Eso A.B.

Zombies Who Pass for Gnomes

Hieros Gamos means Holy Marriage, and ‘hiermalgamy’ means a forced or unholy marriage by secular authorities of people to governments through the act of taxation or other violent and unnatural jointings or divorces.

 

Divine Zombies were greatly honored in what we now call ancient times (actually not that long ago) when phalluses the length of 50 meters were carried by men to familiarize women and themselves with the might of their King John.

 

This ceremony (a necromancy, i.e., awakening of the limp, dead, and asleep) generally took place at a Festival known as Summer Solstice or Johns’ Festival. Because no objective act of resurrection of the phallic object could be achieved, the phallus was anointed with pitch of pine or birch, then raised in a vertical position, and put to flame. It was agreed among community people that what followed the failed resurrection was a carnal orgy. When failed resurrections were denied, Priapus became our contemporary garden gnome (without a sex organ).

 

Those who dispute the continuation of carnal ‘Johns Festival’ practices into the 20^th or 21^st centuries ought not to listen the compromised Christian priesthood, or 19^th century anthropologists, but interview people who have lost their fear of authoritarian censure. As one woman recently told me (we were exchanging observations of the Festival in days gone by, and I had to confess that I had spent my young manhood in the U.S., while she was a Soviet kolhoznik): “You have no idea what you missed!”

 

Alas, I may only reconstruct and embellish what the celebrants in my childhood days hid from me and in their haste to beat the Sun to its rising (it had to be over with by the time the rooster crowed the 3^rd time) did not have the time to actualize, and what today’s urbanites presume to do better in bank indebted whorehouse hotels. But this is how the city and state comes to dominate our private and community culture with fashion: this year, when she bares her breasts, her nipples are blue, next year red, and his rooster may come in the same or opposing colors.

 

What urban dwellers censure is the freedom that manifests itself in open-air and infects the celebrants of so-called classical times or Johns’s nights, when marriages were still Hieros Gamos, except for Midsummer eves, when a swim in the lake or river was as much to try prevent pregnancy or later tell of having been visited by a dove or swan of God.

 

If there is to be a local culture or a variant on a more general tradition, it needs to cure to come into effect. One must see the pit dug or fire pole raised in the village park. This cannot happen in a globalized culture.

 

For the ten years that I oversaw the bonfires in my Latvian neighborhood the symbols [phallus (a pole) and yoni (a pit)] had long been—for reasons of censure—short-circuited from in place symbols to ‘entertaining’ events likely representing an orgasm.

 

One year our neighborhood bonfire was built as a hut of Hansel and Gretel; on another occasion the village men gathered up all the roots that had been left in the ground from felled trees and shook off the dirt, we then piled them into a cone shaped pile with the roots of the tree on the outside, which when after a few days of drying in the open air engulfed the pyre in a virtual cyclone of flames. The Soviet and Western materialist fashions largely got rid of these traditions by means of a cyclone of violence.

 

I pursued my attempt at resurrecting an old tradition, but after ten years gave up because the financial resources gave out and my neighbors, while enjoying the free entertainment, were in no way stimulated to imitate. Socialism of cityfolk had replaced traditions thousands of years old. All of its victims are now turned Zombies or, if you will, ‘nice’ people who dwell in cities unaware that their consciousness is at one in its sleep with those who dream at the cinema.