(This article was originally published for The Thiasos of the Starry Bull, on The Boukoleon, 1/4/15)
There is a story within all mankind, a story that is not myth, nor fiction, it is part of our psyche, it contributes to our creation and drive: it’s the tale of survival.
Your attention is caught by the cracking of wood and earth. A stampeding beast, a massive blur strewn with blood and gore, heckled with arrows and spears. It’s horns shrouded in a net that veils it’s rage filled eyes. A wild bull blazing over trees and scrub while a pack of hounds nip at its hooves only to be repelled by a kick. For a moment the bull stands in place rocking back and forth with its horned head arching up sending a dog flying over the breath of its back, until out of desperation the bull leaps into a nearby river.
Through the struggling moans of the drowning bull and the lamenting barks of the hounds is the incoherent but equally wild yells of men. Armed with net and spear they come to the river bank and in a starving frenzy they throw their weapons at the drowning beast. Blood mixes with water and in that second before death the hunters eyes meet with the hunted. Time stops as they are connected in the same act forever, interchanging in roles, hunted and hunter, hunter and hunted.
Death is seen by the killer and the victim.
The hunters return to their village with their prize and find their starving women and children. Despite hunger, the whole tribe leaps up in celebration at the hunters return greeting them with praise and merriment, the hunters are heroes. They all prepare a great feast and eat the flesh of their kill, they all experience euphoria as they become one with their prey.
Afterwards while relaxing by the fire, the sun dies and the stars become visible and in those blazing dots they see the day’s events unfold again. The hunters name the stars and retell of their exploits, of killed dogs, the river and the bull. A narrative develops, the elements become characters and locations.
The hounds become fourteen victims doomed to the minotaur, the river becomes the labyrinth, the hunters become Theseus.
Through the flesh of the bull the hunters grow old, unable to keep providing for the tribe themselves they show others. They become the story tellers, the masters of the mysteries and through rites of death and rebirth they teach the youth the holy tales and initiate them into adulthood.
Over generations these hunters learn to grow food, they see the same process of death and rebirth in the seasons, in the day and night, in the earth, in the very plants they grow and in themselves. The tale of eternal life that differs each time its told.
Sometimes the hunter is a lover who lost his love and confronts death itself to find her again. Sometimes the bull is a god-child and the hunters are titans. Other times the hunter is the god of the underworld who steals the goddess of spring which brings winter.
It’s always a different tale, but no matter the telling the themes are always the same. Something is lost, something is gained / something is killed, something is reborn. At the centre of this tale are two opposing forces, hunter and hunted, both one and the same, always one destroying the other in order to become the survivor. Be it: the crushing of grapes to ferment wine, the burial of seeds to spout as plants, cutting and gathering of the harvest, the grinding of grain to make flour, the marriage of husband and wife, the loss of virginity to give birth, the coming to age, initiation into the mysteries, the killing of the bull.
It’s in these instances we see ourselves and see that we are part of this ongoing narrative, both the antagonist and protagonist of our own tale of survival. The Starry Bull is our antagonist, our direct opposite, as such: it is a god, it is an animal, of the stars and the earth, it is part man – part beast. When we thrust our weapon into it and look at its dying eyes we see the reflection of ourselves and when we consume its flesh we become one with it.
That is the Starry Bull.