Grove & Roots

Hi! I’m Jing/Jean, I’m from Taiwan🇹🇼🧋

我是希臘復興主義者,Hellenic polytheistic.

I work with Hestia, Hekate, Apollon and Hephaestus, I love Greek gods🥰

I am a student of Apollo✨

✨About me✨

🔅I was born in 1998 ，生肖屬虎

🔅I use she/her

🔅I can use Mandarin, English, 日本語もいいです

🔅I am Leo Sun, Leo Moon, Aquarius Asc

🔅INFP🧚🏼‍♀️

🔅I love boba tea🧋

🔅I’m a dental technician, I make dentures 🦷

🔅I’m also a witch, magician and more than that

我目前正致力於在港台推廣希臘復興主義，經營著自己的instagram , 偶爾會寫一些中文文章介紹希臘復興Hellenism。

✨目前正在研習pgm和更深入的學習希臘復興相關的知識。

I am often too lazy to type in English, but you can send me messages or leave messages in English, and I can understand it!

I am very happy to share my altar photos with you🫶🏼You are also welcome to get to know me and chat with me🥰

My instagram : @grove_hellenism

After rounds of testing, I’ve collaborated with AI to create a simple Geomancy website. The tool features both the Shield Chart and the 12 Houses.

Highlights:

5 Ways to Cast: Four randomized methods: One-click random, Shake-to-toss (mobile coin-flip), Line drawing, and Click-to-generate.

Manual input for the first four Mothers if you prefer to cast them yourself.

Zero Friction: No registration/login required and completely ad-free.

Bilingual: Supports both English and Traditional Chinese.

I’d love for you to give it a try! If you're willing to help test it, your feedback would be greatly appreciated. Please feel free to reach out if you have any suggestions or comments!

Even though I haven't left yet, I’m feeling a bit anxious since I don't know anyone there

I began to become consciously aware of the problem of self-consistency in one’s position of faith after practicing Greek religion for a period of time. Through sustained practice and long-term engagement with scholarly reading, I found myself repeatedly having to clarify a fundamental question: from what position, exactly, am I entering into a relationship with this religious system?

Can a person living in Taiwan practice a religion originating in the ancient Greek world without negating their own cultural background and concrete lived conditions?

For me, this is not an emotional question, but a structural one.

I have never sought to become a pseudo-Greek or what is sometimes called a “spiritual Greek,” nor do I believe that practicing Greek religion entails identifying with or imitating ancient Greek cultural identity. To be frank, ancient Greek culture itself does not evoke in me a sense of “being at home.” By comparison, engagement with Daoism and broader Sinitic cultural traditions more readily produces a feeling of cultural familiarity. And yet, when I stand before my altar, read archaeological reports and historical studies of Greek religion, I experience an unprecedented sense of clarity and stability. This experience does not arise from cultural belonging, but from understanding the internal coherence of the religious system itself—a system that enables me to observe more clearly the workings of the cosmos, fate, and the ordering of all things.

From a historical perspective, ancient Greek religion was not structured around bloodline or ethnicity as prerequisites for participation. It was a form of religion centered on the polis, ritual practice, and correct performance (orthopraxy). Whether one properly honored the gods depended on the appropriateness of one’s actions, not on one’s place of origin. The Greek world existed for long periods within dense networks of cross-cultural exchange. Foreign deities such as Isis from Egypt or Cybele from Asia Minor were incorporated into Greek religious frameworks, and this incorporation is supported by concrete literary and archaeological evidence. From the standpoint of religious structure, therefore, Greek religion neither required practitioners to abandon their original cultures nor treated cultural “purity” as a criterion for religious legitimacy.

For this reason, as someone living in Taiwan, I have never attempted to become an ancient Greek. Instead, I consciously maintain the operation of different layers. On the social level, I abide by Taiwan’s laws, language, and civic responsibilities. On the religious level, I practice according to the internal logic, ritual structures, and human–divine relationships specific to Greek religion. On the personal level, I hold myself accountable for my own discipline—whether I am being lax, or allowing boundaries to become blurred. Self-consistency does not arise from cultural fusion, but from clearly knowing which system is being engaged at any given moment, and from refusing to allow any one of them to subsume or replace the others.

It is within this context that certain individuals have deliberately questioned the legitimacy of my practicing and sharing Greek religion in Taiwan. When such challenges come from people who themselves practice Western witchcraft locally in Taiwan, and who even emphasize their own status as inheritors of rare “authentic” Western traditions, the contradiction becomes frankly absurd. If cultural or geographic location alone were sufficient to invalidate religious practice, then such a standard would collapse under its own logic.

To go further, I have never believed that being Taiwanese requires one to simulate some imagined notion of what a “Taiwanese person ought to be,” nor to force oneself into such a mold—as though a Taiwanese witch must necessarily wear blue-and-white plastic sandals, burn joss paper at street intersections, chant spells in fluent Taiwanese, and work exclusively with local deities. Put plainly, this kind of stereotyping directly erases the internal diversity of Taiwanese culture. And if that were truly my goal, I could simply choose to immerse myself fully in indigenous religious systems instead.

For me, practicing Greek religion is not about acquiring a new identity label. It is a long-term and disciplined choice, one that requires accountability on two fronts: responsibility toward the gods I honor, and responsibility toward the reality in which I live. When both are clearly recognized and properly situated, self-consistency ceases to be a problem that demands constant justification, and instead becomes a way of life that can be continuously practiced.

19 January 2026

To be honest, I’m still not very used to Tumblr.

I have to say! English isn’t my native language, and I’ve always been the kind of person who loved playing more than studying when I was younger… so, well, my English level is… 🫣💦

Why doesn’t Tumblr have a built-in translate button?!

Anyway, I’ve been thinking maybe I should try to make some friends here.

I’m mostly active on Instagram, because I run my own little witchcraft shop. I usually share my writings there, and sometimes I translate and repost them here…

But honestly, I’m not sure would anyone even enjoy them?

This definitely isn’t a great “making friends” kind of post… maybe I should write a proper one later?

Or maybe I should just ask: how do you usually make friends on here?

I mean, I do have some witchy friends back in Taiwan, but making friends with people from the same culture is just easier.

Here, I really, really, really don’t know how to say hi without sounding too enthusiastic to strangers reading my posts.

I need friends!!! I need witchy friends!!! I need them!!!

Okay, I also need friends who are into visual novels and women-centered games too (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

The images in this post:

📸 my Greek altar,

📿 some handmade bracelets I created inspired by Greek deities,

🕯️ another one of my altars,

🔮 and a glimpse of the geomantic divination system I’ve been learning recently.

我要瘋了

In Greek mythology, Hephaestus is the god of fire and forging, as well as the guardian of metalworking, architecture, and sculpture.

His birth carries with it a mark of conflict: some traditions claim he was the son of Zeus and Hera, while others say Hera alone birthed him in anger, seeking to rival Zeus, who had produced Athena without her.

Regardless of the version, Hephaestus was born lame or deformed and was cast down from Olympus by Hera (or Zeus) in disdain.

Falling into the sea, he was rescued by sea nymphs. From that moment, he was destined to become a god who would rise from the fall, forging fate itself with fire and hammer.

Hephaestus’ flame is the force that creates order out of chaos.

♡ ✧*｡♡ ✧*｡♡ ✧*｡♡ ✧*｡♡ ✧*｡

▌The Many Aspects and Symbols of Hephaestus

As one of the Twelve Olympians, Hephaestus holds the secrets of human civilization and craftsmanship.

His divine domains stretch across fire, metal, craft, and creation:

✨ He tames the primal force of fire, forging raw, unshaped metal into sacred tools and weapons.

In the Iliad, Hephaestus forges a shield for Achilles, intricately crafted to reflect the cosmic order.

✨ Hephaestus creates walking mechanical servants and installs automatic doors and devices—early imaginings of automatons in Greek mythology.

The Iliad describes him as having “self-moving tripods,” vessels that moved independently, a vision of early automation.

✨ He builds palaces, thrones, and temples for the gods.

He crafted Hera’s golden throne, equipped with invisible chains.

Archaeologically, the Hephaisteion (Temple of Hephaestus) in the Athenian Agora, built around 449 BCE, remains one of the best-preserved classical Greek temples, believed to be associated with the joint worship of Hephaestus and Athena.

✨ After repeated exile and rejection, he answered humiliation through labor and mastery, transforming imperfection into unparalleled creative power.

The Iliad recounts Hephaestus’ fall—cast from Olympus, he tumbled for nine days and nights before being rescued on the island of Lemnos—a story that symbolizes forging strength from brokenness.

His sacred symbols include: the hammer, tongs, anvil, and the furnace flame.

His steadfast companion, the donkey, appears in many ancient vase paintings (such as the lekythos white-ground pottery) and later mosaics, embodying endurance and perseverance.

▌Origins and Worship

One of Hephaestus’ major centers of worship was the island of Lemnos, where he was venerated as a principal deity, bringer of fire and craft.

In Athens, he was worshipped alongside Athena, representing the union of skill and reason in the formation of civilization.

Archaeological findings often depict Hephaestus as a robust, strong craftsman, slightly stumbling in posture yet fully absorbed in his divine work.

▌The Deep Philosophical Reflections Behind the Myth: The Sublimation of Imperfection

Hephaestus’ myth is not just a hymn to craftsmanship; it reflects a profound Greek meditation on the nature of existence:

✨ Imperfection is Part of Life

His lameness and rejection mirror the inherent limitations and brokenness of the material world.

In Greek philosophy, the sensory world (kosmos) was never seen as pure perfection but as something that must be continuously repaired and elevated through wisdom and art.

✨ Labor and Creation Are Battles with Nature

Fire, initially a force of destruction, becomes under Hephaestus’ hands the source of life, cities, and civilization.

His forging is a dialogue with nature—a conquest and recreation of order.

✨ Shame and Forging: Miracles Born of Scars

His fall and rise embody a truth: only by facing wounds and imperfections can one be reforged in the flame, becoming indestructible.

▌Festivals and Sacred Celebrations

In Athens, the Hephaestia festival was held annually, with offerings of pottery, crafted works, and incense given in gratitude for the gifts of craftsmanship and civilization.

His temple in the Athenian Agora still stands today, silently bearing witness to humanity’s vow to create order from the flames.

▌More Than a Craftsman — A Divine Force Forged from the Fall

Even today, we continue to call upon his strength:

To rebuild resilience in the face of failure,

To discover hidden potential within imperfection,

To reforge the soul into light and strength beneath the hammer and flame.

Hephaestus teaches us: true beauty does not lie in innate perfection, but in the courage to create and move forward after enduring the fire.

＊Translated by ChatGPT, based on the original work by @grove_hellnism

The term “sacred prostitute” appears to describe a historical religious phenomenon, but in reality, it is a modern concept constructed by 19th-century Western male scholars to project their fantasies and misunderstandings onto ancient non-Western female religious figures.

The words “sacred” and “prostitute” were never paired in ancient languages or texts. The compound “sacred prostitute” first appeared in Western colonial and academic writings of the 19th century, particularly in reference to Babylonian, Indian, and Near Eastern cultures.

It was never a term used by any ancient religion to describe itself, but rather a modern projection and reconstruction of imagined links between divinity and sexuality.

▌The Origin of the Myth? Herodotus’ Description

“Every Babylonian woman must, once in her life, sit in the temple of Ishtar and have intercourse with a stranger, as a sacred duty.”

— Herodotus, Histories 1.199

Though later interpreted as evidence of a sacred prostitution system, this passage contains no words equivalent to “prostitute” or “sacred prostitute”, and lacks any corroboration from Babylonian sources.

Modern scholars largely agree that this is a Hellenic exoticized fantasy, not a record of an actual religious institution.

▌A Thousand Temple Slaves in Corinth? Strabo’s Exaggeration

Ancient geographer and historian Strabo once claimed:

“The temple of Aphrodite in Corinth had a thousand slave women who offered sexual services to pilgrims.”

This statement forged a tight link between Aphrodite’s cult and eroticism.

Yet archaeological and textual evidence suggests these women were likely temple slaves, entertainers, perfume sellers, or musicians, not religious sex workers.

▌Where’s the Evidence? What Scholars Say

Most modern historians and archaeologists argue that the idea of a sacred prostitution system is a colonial-era sexual projection and cultural misunderstanding:

✨ Historian Stephanie Budin, in her book The Myth of Sacred Prostitution in Antiquity, systematically analyzed ancient Near Eastern and Mediterranean texts and concluded that no such system ever existed.

✨ Ancient historian and archaeologist Julia Assante, in her academic paper The kar.kid/harimtu, Prostitute or Single Woman? A Reconsideration of the Evidence, argued that temple women in Near Eastern texts were never clearly described as sex workers; they were more often priestesses, dancers, or diviners.

✨ Administrative and ritual documents from Babylon and Assyria contain no evidence of institutionalized religious sex acts as obligation or rite.

▌Whose Projection Is “Sacred Prostitution”? The Politics of Erotic Mythmaking

The myth of sacred prostitution is not merely a historical error. It reflects Western fantasies about the “exotic,” the female body, and pagan religion:

✨ Goddesses like Ishtar, Astarte, and Aphrodite represented war, desire, fertility, and death, yet were often recast by classical and colonial writers as seductresses and harlots.

✨ These writers projected male fears and desires onto the women who worshipped these goddesses.

✨ The female temple body became a symbolic battlefield between “civilization” and “savagery,” “order” and “desire.”

▌Divinity Is Not Ashamed of Desire. What Deserves Scrutiny Are the Misinterpretations Done in Its Name.

I do not deny that ancient societies often connected sexuality and fertility with the sacred. But reducing women’s religious roles to mere “sex work” is a distortion of history.

So-called “sacred prostitution” is more likely the colonial imagination’s sexualization of non-Western spirituality than an actual religious practice.

To expose the misreading is not to erase the erotic within religion, but to restore dignity and nuance to the misunderstood women—their sanctity, their rites, and their truth.

As Stephanie Budin wrote in The Myth of Sacred Prostitution in Antiquity:

“We do not reject the idea of sacred prostitution because no temple sites have been found; we reject it because none of the descriptions of it withstand historical or archaeological scrutiny.”

Yet, even if sacred prostitution likely never existed in the past, the phrase continues to echo across centuries.

It has become a portal into how humans explore the intersections of womanhood, body, desire, power, and divinity.

Perhaps even the ancient authors who first recorded these claims never imagined that their biased descriptions would blossom into such a rich and complex cultural symbol.

Recently, I sent an email to a Hellenic polytheist living in Argentina, asking for their thoughts on misogyny in ancient Greek religion.

Deep down, I’ve always known the answers to these questions—or at least understood the reasoning. But there was a knot in my heart that I just couldn’t untie.

Especially because someone I once trusted deeply had made a mess of their Hellenic revivalist beliefs. They mixed in a lot of monotheistic ideas—like Neoplatonism and Hermeticism—into the polytheistic Greek system. I was never truly convinced by that approach, but I must admit: it was because of their influence that I first began studying Greek religion.

As I delved deeper, I also became increasingly confused and conflicted. I started to wonder—had I already gone astray from the beginning? Had I been led down the wrong path?

After all, there aren’t many people around me seriously studying Hellenic revivalism. I’m basically practicing alone.

Solitary practice allows for freedom, but without a community, there’s no mirror—no one to gently say, “This may not be the right way.” No example to follow, no clear template on how to go deeper. I’ve had to navigate this path through my own research and judgment.

So I decided to reach out and ask that practitioner.

And then—something magical happened.

The very next day after I sent the message, my friend Skrlar—who studies Celtic revivalism and runs the “Witch and Oak” workshop—had a dream. In it, they became one of the priestesses who served Gaia at Delphi, before Apollo ever arrived. When they woke, they told me: “I’m sure this dream wasn’t meant for me—it was meant for you. You needed to know this.”

Then she said:

“I dreamt it yesterday, and I had this strong feeling I needed to tell you.”

“What I felt the message meant was this: Gaia and Apollo aren’t inherently in conflict. That’s not the essence.”

“The contradiction is something created—by social needs, political agendas, and poets. It was about diminishing the mother goddess, I think.”

The moment I read those words, I almost cried. My eyes were already filled with tears.

After everything that happened in the past, I had questioned myself so many times. Was my research truly on the right path? Were my interpretations and judgments objective? Was anything I believed even real?

But this dream—and Skylar’s interpretation—felt like a key. A key that unlocked the part of me I was too afraid to face.

To me, this wasn’t a message pulled from my own divination or someone else’s channeling. This felt like a direct and clear response from the gods themselves.

(If I had drawn cards myself, I probably would’ve kept overthinking it—truly hopeless.)

But when the gods themselves give an answer so directly, it immediately brings understanding, peace, and grounding.