When night falls and the torches rise, who do you run with?
In the thick of ancient Athens—where polished temples whispered Apollo’s name and marble feet lined polite avenues—there came a goddess who didn’t ask to be tamed.
She was Bendis, a Thracian moon-huntress with fire in her bones and the scent of deep woods clinging to her offerings. She arrived with foreigners, outlanders, and women who didn’t shrink under starlight. She wasn’t one of “their” gods—but they made room anyway.
The Feast of Bendidia wasn’t about fitting in. It was about showing up lit—with a torch in one hand and a wild heart in the other.
Held at night, under the full moon, the Bendidia was a dual celebration: one part formal Athenian ritual, one part raw Thracian mystery rite. Two separate ceremonies ran in parallel—one for the locals, one for the outsiders. Different customs. Same fire.
And then came the torch race on horseback.
Riders would tear through the darkness in relays, torches blazing, hooves striking sparks—part sport, part spell. The message was clear: We ride for something older than marble and laws. Bendis didn’t belong to city-states. She belonged to the night.
In her own land, Bendis was a protector of the forests, the moon, and sacred ecstasy. She’s often compared to Artemis—but while Artemis stayed chaste and elegant, Bendis showed up bare-legged and ready to dance or throw down.
Later interpretations link her to Hecate, Diana, or even Baba Yaga—any fierce feminine spirit who lives on the edge of what’s "acceptable."
Bendis is liminal. Lunar. Untamed. She is the goddess of those who don’t quite belong… and don’t care to.
We live in an age of algorithmic perfection, curated masks, and spiritual performance art. But Bendis doesn’t want polish—she wants presence.
Her feast invites you to:
Light something real.
Run with the people who don’t fit in.
Honor the part of you that thrives at twilight, when roles loosen and masks slip.
Whether you're a solitary witch, an edge-walker in your community, or just tired of pretending your weirdness isn’t sacred—Bendis has a place at your fire.
Timing: Full Moon or anytime you feel exiled, overlooked, or on the threshold of change.
What you need:
A candle or torch (bonus: do it outside)
A symbol of movement (boots, keys, or a drawn horse)
An offering (wine, herbs, or wildflowers)
Say aloud (or whisper if it’s That Kind of neighborhood):
“I light this flame for the outsider moon,
For the hunt that finds what hides in plain view.
Bendis, torchbearer, forest-friend,
Guide me past gates that never opened—
Let my wild self ride free again.”
Close with movement: Walk or dance in a circle, counterclockwise first (banishing), then clockwise (welcoming your power back in). Leave the offering at a tree, crossroads, or threshold.
Absolutely. Gemini is all about duality, thresholds, movement, and wit—a perfect cosmic echo of Bendis’ twofold rites and torch-bearing symbolism. Gemini talks. Bendis runs. Together? You get a voice that moves through every gate.
Light a candle for Bendis during Gemini season and ask:
Where am I meant to move that I’ve stayed still?
Who am I when no one’s watching?
What wildness have I tried to outtalk?
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Dave's been slinging tarot cards since landline phones were still a thing—1979, to be exact. As a fully initiated Olocha, Ngangalero, Wiccan, animist, and Chaos Magician, he’s basically got the metaphysical equivalent of a black belt in spiritual badassery.
Dave is the author and artist behind the Tarot of the Unexplained (Weiser Books, 2024), and the Magical AI Grimoire (Weiser Books, 2025).