In time. all time, I hate my Bakkhos, love my Bakkhos. I am lost in the counting of his moments, and report in slow detail to him that which happens in a flash. I see a love before me, not mine, though, for I have found no life in this body. Body? Dare I call it such? Lashed to the god by his word, his lips forming his pain and play like a song, and I spit it back at him, loving my Bakkhos, my god.
-- Frenzy by Percival Everett
Late night bath after Persephone's devotional day. I throw in a handful of dittany of crete, some florida water, some floral bpal perfume. Smear honey on my face, because why not? Sip ale and read the first half of Frenzy by Percival Everett. An incredible book, thus far, and no doubt my favorite Dionysian novel. I stop now and then to ice my the tendons of my arm. The simplest remedies always take me the longest to get around to, for some reason. Though it makes me writhe, I don't take it off my skin until it stops hurting. It's all brain signals anyway. I have bruises on my leg that I'm not sure where they came from.
I imagine that I stay in the bath until dawn. I do.
It's the eve of the anniversary of my husband's death. Sometimes I worry, more than I care to admit, that death is like a drug trip. Yet this doesn't stop me from tripping. I imagine that similar fears of life and death have not stop me from being reborn. I once, on the last solstice we had together, asked my husband about this after dancing the delta mary tango and forgetting the meaning of words. "Dionysos." "Sunrise." "Solstice." They had shape and significance but my own loss of self could not reconcile their amorphousness. I came back and said, "Are you still here?" He said, "Yes, I'm here." I said, "I wonder if that's what death is like." He thought about that for a moment and said, "I don't think so." We talked about it a little more, as I marvelled at glowing webs of energetic thread and color still pulsing around the room.
In the bath, I take very deep breaths and it makes my heart beat abnormally hard and fast, in series of five. I repeat this a few times with the same results. No pain though, just a heart like a drumbeat and a penchant for unlucky numbers. Maybe I'll die of a broken heart. Or bad puns?
I think about Dionysos and whether all who love him are bound in some way, needing to be free. Or sharing some other commonality of person or pattern that fits to His own. I mean, everyone needs freedom from something, but for us... is it the willingness to forsake boundaries, the realization that such chains are there, an abnormal awakeness, a divine contract? My given name actually means "bound". I suppose it figures. Such clues are everywhere if you look.
I found myself thinking a moon cycle or more back, about certain way I thought I might hold myself back. (a la "I don't think I could ever...") Which isn't always wrong, I mean sometimes there are taboos and I thought perhaps I had found one. Dionysos disabused me of that notion pretty quick, with a loud "I'm sending you a dream." And he did, and he made his point. I think the point was the point, so far. At least, in other words, actual circumstances have not tested me... I think he just wished me to drop that idea pretty quick.
If you want to go mad, you need to give yourself more time with your own thoughts. Truth.
I have been chanting a lot lately, the Greek words from the bone tablets. Particularly...
Bios Thanatos Bios Alethaia Zagreus Dionysos
Sometimes when I'm walking outside, sometimes at odd moments when I'm alone. I'm quite enamored with the way they flow off the tongue.
Bios Thanatos Bios Alethaia Zagreus Dionysos
Sleep overtakes me. I shan't apologize for being strange.
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