To be a maenad is to be alive, to taste every breath on your tongue and recognize the taste of him. It’s movement, vibrant and holy, because you know the only true way to say his name is to dance it. Stomping out Δ ι ό ν υ σ ο ς with your feet, shaking BACCHUS in your hips. It’s looking at God and saying “Have me.” and “Change me”, because he will tear you out of yourself and put a maenad behind your eyes, if you let him. Self will lose her importance; you will become a movement, a dance, a holy cry, a piece of his puzzle, a vessel for praise. It’s trying your damnedest to become even the smallest mirror for Dionysos, even if you will never reflect all of him, not by miles and miles. It’s realizing you can never thank him well enough, but trying anyway. It’s an endeavor of holiness and purity, and by the same token, it is embracing your humanity. Feel every cell, every sharp pang of fear, overflowing of joy, quiver, panic, come. It’s catharsis, in every sense of the word, be it ancient or modern. It’s falling on your knees because you are so small in his presence. It’s standing on your feet because he has made you so fearsome. It’s drumbeats, screams, manic laughter, trust, adoration….what can I say, Anon? It’s something I’m still learning. It is the only way I ever want to be.
dededos
snowghoul
kaledo-art
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
