XCVII THE MYSTERIES
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
WITHIN the enclosure thrice mysterious, where the men never enter, we have made a festival for thee, Astarte of the Night, Mother of the World, Fountain of the Life of the Gods!
I will reveal something, but not more than is permitted. About a phallos crowned, an hundred women rocked, shrieking. The initiates wore the habits of men, the others the divided tunics.
The smoke of perfumes, the fumes of torches, wavered between us like clouds. I wept burning tears. All, at the feet of the Berbeia; we cast ourselves upon our backs.
At last when the religious Act was consummated, and when, in the Unique Triangle, had been plunged the crimson phallos, the mystery commenced; but I will tell no more.