Ivy-Clad Tuesday

Sannion posed two questions last week. 

 

1) Who are you?

2) What role does art play in your worship? 

 

I haven't read anyone else's responses yet, but these questions really get to the heart of some things I'm working through at the moment.  I almost don't even want to talk about it.  So I will. 

 

I feel some resistance towards defining myself by the "masks" I could wear, although in the past I would have said they were part of my identity.  Things like writing poetry and playing music for example.  These were my passions, and they've fallen by the wayside, big-time, over the past couple years.  To the point where I'm not entirely sure if they are still passions.  Or if they are, where my blocks are coming from.  I feel these blocks as far as my spiritual pursuits are concerned as well, although my devotion for the gods motivates me to make more of an effort there than with the others.  

 

But why, for example, haven't I ever taken my violin to my Dionysos shrine and just played?  

 

I only now just thought of that question, but it stings and troubles.  Is Dionysos not a god of releasing fears, of breaking through?  Am I not a Dionysian? 
 

Nothing by accident.  I seem to remember mentioning in another blog of mine that I felt as if I was in the process of stripping away and building myself back up.  Perhaps it's a matter of repeating the question, "What are you, if not this?" and seeing what is left.

 

But I do know, and this is a fairly recent revelation, that I am a mystic.  I feel that word describes the longing I have and have always had at my core.  Something that feels both restless and peaceful at the same time, that could not be without the gods.  I also know that something that is essentially "me" persists beyond death, and can be recognized by my love in another life. 

 

Art is worship and worship is an art.  I need to integrate this truth more deeply.  And I need to go dancing again.  And maybe paint a sloppy watercolor of Dionysos while drinking absinthe.  In other words, do the art I know, and do art that I don't know.  And not worry about the outcome.  That last, that's important.  With art as well as worship, shouldn't it be the experience and not necessarily the outcome that is most rewarding?

 

That's more of a rambling confession than a straight answer, but there it is.  (Is every Dionysian in a constant state of wondering Who They Are?)  

 

You can call me Aridela Pantherina, and I'm certainly a Dionysian.