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God, I think, is what you are, but not the God of garish Cathedrals and red-faced Baptist preachers. Nor the God painted in Imperial hues, who sits above a fallen world, and finds fault in everything that man does. You are the wild and untamed wind that blows across the sun-blasted plane and the perfect silence upon which nothing can intrude. A song, a dance, and a merry laugh among good friends, the unexpected inspiration that drags me out of bed late at night. You are manifest in the shapely curves of a beautiful woman in the defiant cries of a new-born baby. Great books and ribald jokes. You are an enigma that the mind cannot unravel, but my flesh knows you. A Mystery whose only answer is experience, an absurdity that makes reality seem dim by comparison. Even contemplating the tiniest part of you makes my head swim and fills me with excitement. I can't even sit still when I think of you. I have to get up and dance. Dance, dance, dance - and sing! O how I must sing. What do I sing? I don't know, each time it's different. "Io Bacchus!" Alleluia!" "I am alive!" "fucking a!" Each time I'm singing your name. Everything that I sing, everything that I say or think or do - is just another name for you. But my favorite name is Dionysos, the name of my beloved!
written 1999 |
