Beginning of the two-day festival of the Greek god Dionysus, equivalent to the Roman Bacchus, youthful diety of wine. The festival promotes a fruitful grape harvest.
— The Pagan Book Of Days, Nigel Pennick
The Lover is ever drunk with Love.
He is mad,
she is free.
He sings with delight,
she dances with ecstasy.
Caught by our own thoughts,
we worry about everything.
But once we get drunk on that Love
whatever will be, will be.
“That connection between humans is really a part of that deeper connection — the love that we often express, whether it be the love you might have for your children or the love you might have for another human being is a part of the great Love with the Divine. And it’s the desire and the connection with the Divine Power of creation that brings us to always needing and wanting that closer, deeper contact.” — T.S.
There’s an old rule that drunks have to argue
and get into fights.
The lover is just as bad. He falls down a hole.
But down in that hole he finds something shining,
worth more than any amount of money or power.
Last night the moon came
dropping its clothes in the street.
I took it as a sign to start singing.
Falling up into the bowl of sky.
The bowl brakes. Everywhere is falling everywhere.
Nothing else to do.
Here’s the new rule: break the wineglass.
And fall toward the glassblower’s breath.