The Korybantic Scene and Dionysus lying on Persephone
Peter Mark Adams

Peter Mark Adams is an astonishing author both for his area of interest and for his ability to bring to light what many others have chosen to ignore or have been unable to find.

In his latest work, Mystai: Dancing out the Mysteries of Dionysos, Adams takes us back two thousand years through the fascinating frescoes of the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii.

Thanks to his kaleidoscopic knowledge of the ancient world and initiation rituals, Adams offers us unprecedented answers to a masterpiece considered by many to be the most important graphic testimony of the Western esoteric tradition.

Q: The frescoes in the Villa of the Mysteries at Pompeii have been interpreted in many ways. Some say they are mere decorations, others propose a nuptial...

• Lee el artículo íntegro en The New Mithraeum.

Montemor, Portugal, May 1, 1994.
Rineke Dijkstra

“For god’s sake, you can’t even take care of yourself and you wanna get dad with you. That’s a good one,” Jorge said with an inquisitor gaze up to his brother, waiting for a reply that was not going to happen.

“Bah…” added in conclusion, clutching half his face as he scanned the surroundings of the square, a spark of disgust in his eyes.

Jorge leaned on two legs of his chair, like a teenager, his legs widespread, holding his mouth with a hand to refrain himself from adding anything else to his brother’s idea.

Jorge could not stay quiet for long, though.

He loosened the knot of his tie and raised a hand to the waiter who was taking another order three tables away. “Hey dude, we waiting,” yells at him. He...

• Lee el artículo íntegro.

Tree lover
Olga Abuín

I do not even have a garden.
Or wait. Maybe this is my garden.
And it has always been.
Once a year. Some years. By the middle-end of winter.

First Saturday of February. Or first Sunday. Does not matter.
A thick coat. Before. When winter was still winter, and mountains kept their white beanies until June or even later.
Even today. You better wrap up warm if you do not want to catch a good cold.

I get here early.
As early as the first carnies.
The young bucks rub their eyes while unloading trees that are not more than long sticks stuck in a slice of soil.
This one is a peach tree, they say, or a pear tree or an apple tree.
You must have faith. They are just sticks stuck in a slice of soil.

• Lee el artículo íntegro.

Josefina es una militante convencida de la lucha contra el sida y la discriminación.
Andreu Abuín

El Hospital Regional de Malabo se encuentra al noreste de la ciudad, cerca del mar. Además del edificio principal, el centro se compone de pequeñas construcciones esparcidas por todo el recinto sanitario. El chófer nos deja a Andrea Djassi, especialista VIH/sida y salud de UNICEF Guinea Ecuatorial, y a mí en la entrada de uno de los edificios secundarios.

El turno de la mañana está por acabar y las salas empiezan a vaciarse. Solo quedan los últimos pacientes que esperan a ser atendidos mientras miran las noticias en la televisión nacional. Preguntamos a una chica de la recepción por Josefina. No hacen falta apellidos. Todo el mundo conoce a Josefina Mbang Asumu Kawan en la ciudad. Desde que fue diagnosticada seropositiva, Josefina ha dedicado su tiempo a la lucha...

• Lee el artículo íntegro en UNICEF.
• Read a quick translation of this article in English.

Montemor, Portugal, May 1, 1994.
Rineke Dijkstra

Lucio was trying to figure a position,
sitting on a cold metal chair in a concrete square,
not to seem clumsy or odd or how he really felt,
for no reason really. Just because.

He beamed when saw his brother around the corner,
Lucio’s childish dimples sinking in his cheeks.
He waved his hand calling for affection.
Jorge nodded as walked towards.
Raised an eyebrow to the surroundings.
Where the fuck were them.

Jorge was late,
stuffed in a dark grey bright suit a size smaller than his.
Threw his car key that glided over the table only stopped its way down the ground by Lucio’s hands awkwardly gathered up there.
Traffic was bad, the city, the entire country.
Lucio nods at his brother.
Of course, it was. Bunch of losers. Shitty town. Nowhere to park.

Jorge would throw an inquisitorial gaze onto his brother appearance.
Lucio would catch the disapproval blink. The light sigh. His turning faces.

Jorge leaves his marron briefcase on the ground. Raises a hand. He is not going to wait all day for a drink, is he?
And then, what was that stupid idea Lucio laid?
Oh yes, taking dad with him. No way. That was not going to happen. Jorge was going to provide. He was the one taking care. As usual. As always.

Jorge grabbed a leaflet out of his briefcase.
Turned to a double page. Panoramic French garden view in your face.
An old couple sitting on a stone bench in the middle of it.
A frozen sunny day that did not announce an end.

Fancy, isn’t it? raising his eyebrows in a golden smile.
Yeah, looks nice, it is all Lucio finds to say.
Thirty hundreds, man, thirty hundreds.

No shit.