The Gathered Bvlls:

Agnitor, Taurmenos. Sonitor, Demoritus, Medhuvir, Weidarius, Tektor, Dhemtor, Formosator, Gnehalis, Veidor, Aeksarius

This year Dhemtor, Aeksarius, and I made the pilgrimage together. Our journey began on 260319 in the valleys beneath what the Ute people once called Tava-kaavi, the Sun Mountain. As we headed south it stood behind us as both landmark and witness, its presence marking the place of departure more than any road or sign could.

Hours passed in steady travel, the miles stretching out across open land and through narrowing roads, as we made our way toward the Valley of the Sun. The familiar fell behind in stages, replaced by distance and by the growing sense that we were moving not just across the land, but toward something set apart.

Though the hours of travel were long, they did not weigh heavily on us. The road was carried more easily in the presence of one another, in conversation that rose and fell with the miles. What might have been endured alone was instead shared, and so passed without strain.

Often, our talk returned to TOROS, the theme for the Alignment to which we were traveling. It was spoken of from different angles, approached, tested, and turned over in thought, yet never fully settled. The word, and the glyph it represents to us, seemed to hold more than any one of us could fix in place, and so it remained with us along the road, not as an answer, but as something to be met.

When at last we arrived in the Valley of the Sun, we came to the abode of SPx Agnitor, the place appointed for our gathering. The journey gave way to stillness, and with it came the quiet recognition of having reached where we were meant to be.

There, among those already present, the regathering began. Bvlls met again, some for the first time, not with spectacle, but with a steady familiarity, as though no true distance or time had passed between meetings. A golden Bull, TOROS, stood as the centerpiece, surrounded by meats, cheeses, marrow, breads, and libations. Unfailing and unmatched hospitality.

As the evening settled in, the company grew by degrees. Bvlls arrived in a slow and steady trickle, each one entering into the space and adding to the forming whole. No single moment marked the gathering as complete, yet with each arrival it became more fully itself.
The following day began with a visit to a strongman gym, a place set apart and built for the cultivation of strength. It stood as a kind of proving ground, where the body is not hidden or softened, but brought forward and put to the test.

There, iron and effort spoke plainly. The work required no explanation. Each movement carried its own meaning, each strain a direct expression of will. In that place, the idea of TOROS took on a more tangible form, something embodied, measured in weight lifted, in breath controlled, and in the visible exertion of the men around us.

The same day was brought to its close with jiu-jitsu, an offering to the Striker. Where the morning had been iron and force, the evening was movement and contact, the body meeting resistance in a different form. There was no stillness here. Only motion, pressure, and the
constant demand to adapt. Each exchange unfolded without pretense, stripped down to instinct and control.

The following morning, with preparations made, we set out for the Superstition Wilderness to begin the ritual hike. The road gave way to an open and mountainous desert, and with it came a different kind of silence, one that was wider and more exposed.

The heat rose quickly. It was dry and unrelenting, pressing against the body with each step. Yet it was not resisted. It was taken in as part of the work, something to be met rather than avoided. We moved until we came upon a place that felt right to us, not by measure or map, but by a
shared recognition that settled without debate. It was there that we chose to stop. Camp was set with purpose, each man taking up his part. What had been a stretch of open ground began to take form, shaped by intention and preparation for what was to follow.

Shortly after, we started—as is always done according to tradition—by building the Holy Mountain and drawing the Circle of Dreams. In the space and time between these rites, much exploration of the space commenced. Despite the desert surrounding us, there seemed to be
more life teeming in these desolate hills than even in more seemingly vibrant terrains.

Hawks hunted overhead, calmly riding the drafts until the opportune moment to strike, like a bolt of lightning over their prey. Lizards streaking across stone, small rabbits appearing and disappearing around the rocks. Life was all around us.

For a time, we sought refuge from the heat below a leaning rock shelter. We deemed this space “Medhuvir’s Tomb” to comically honor a Bvll in our midst. Regardless of our colloquial naming, this space was revered. Not only for its gifts of shade, but it also allowed us to connect with the past. What other tribes, travelers, and men may have sought out this stone’s refuge in the past?

Not long after, Golden Hour began to approach. The hour was upon us to begin the next pieces of our rites. Each Bvll in his turn was anointed and took their place around the Holy Mountain.

As our torches were lit, birds erupted into song and a powerful wind quickly ripped through the valley. It felt as though the moment was answered by the land.

The Invocation began. The space, once ordinary, was set apart through word and attention, drawn into a different order.

The First Fire was then brought to life. It was not lit carelessly, but called forth, given its name—Agni, and placed within a line that reached beyond the present moment. In that naming, it was set into continuity with the Fires that had come before, not as imitation, but as extension. From there, the axis was established. The Fire stood at the center, fixed and steady, and around it the First Men held their place. Through the rite of circumambulation, each man moved in relation to it, not wandering, but ordered, drawn into a pattern that held both motion and meaning.

After the rite concluded, Formosator stood and delivered a speech for TOROS. It was not casual or ornamental, but deliberate and commanding. Each word struck with clarity, and the inspiration it stirred was palpable, moving deeply through every man present.
With that energy still in the air, the Holy Round was initiated. Two cycles were performed: the first to honor our traditional round, the second to name the newly initiated Bvlls.

The round was full of gratitude. Thanks were offered for the work done, for the fires kept, and for the powerful fellowship held in common. Amid these, there were also announcements of life soon to come, news of new beginnings that shimmered like the morning light, promising continuity and growth. Finally, FiA Dhemtor, FiA Gnehalis, FiA Sonitor, and FiA Tektor received their Sacred Names.

From that point onward, the Fire Watches began. Each man took his appointed hour, standing with Agni as the night deepened around him.
The tending of this sacred flame was quiet work, requiring neither words nor ceremony beyond presence and attention. Words spoken were done so with decorum and awareness. Alone or in the shifting company of another, we kept the Fire alive, its steady glow a constant against the vast darkness of the wilderness.

As the sun began its slow morning rise, the final pieces of the journey were set into motion. Ashes were gathered with care, carried as quiet reminders of what had passed. Gear was packed, arranged, and shouldered, and we moved once more through the wilderness, leaving the space behind but carrying its memory within us.

Crossing the threshold back into the wider world marked the moment the company gave way to many paths. One by one, the Bvlls turned toward their own directions, returning to life outside the circle. Yet each carried something more than memory: a Fire, quietly stoked in the heart, ready to be borne out into the world.

Iove Fulgente

– FiA Weidarius