The Bacchant’s Birthday

A white candle is lit and the sandalwood cone burns bright. A hot bath is drawn and its water, and salt, are blessed. The warmth of the bath and the incense smoke play upon the night air from open windows. The wine is blessed…

I bless thee, oh creature of Earth and Water,
I bless thee by fruit and vine, by seed and stem.
I bless thee oh blood of Dionysus
Blessed be so mote it be.

I raise the goblet up, toasting the Gods and Goddesses of my heart and soul. I drink in the wine, in scent and taste and touch. The rich scents of black fruits and berries in the wine dance with the scent of the sandalwood, and the hints of cedar and citrus blossom in the night air. I am overtaken by a dream of decadent dythrambic dalliances with Dionysus.

I dry myself and go outside to sit in the starlight seeking a moment of silence staring at the stars above. Seeking out constellations familiar and imagined. Staring at a single flickering star, seeking silence as midnight works its alchemy upon both day and night. In a moment I am one year older, feeling both ancient and newly born as my thoughts take flight.

The Gods are as remote as the stars, and as close as our indrawn breaths.

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