Dreamtime craving for alcohol when you’re not a drunk means Bacchus is having a crisis of consciousness tossing the nymphs and turning the maenads out of his bed
thump thump thump
they hit the floor and
tap tap tap
he comes to your window
because you have your own bed and won’t sleep with him in it gravity isn’t a threat then and he has the whole carpet to himself
because he enjoys thrusting his head under your box spring and tying your mismatched and long- forgotten shoelaces together.
Also, he thinks you’re fun to drink with mostly because you don’t much, don’t have the stuff for proper cocktails, and while you’re craving his liquor he’s craving the sexy way you pour it into a diet root beer shrug and drink it all down.
“Much have we loved you, but speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.” -Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
In a moment of pain, suffering again with a traumatic memory, beyond trauma, that gave me tremors in my right arm and down the length of my leg, I cried out in loneliness and, in the imaginary conversation I was having with my therapist, I said how lonely I was with my trauma and how talking to my god was not enough because “he’s a ghost!”
(I am thinking of a ghost’s sheet as a veil.)
I hurt my god’s feelings. He has been right here with me through all the blood and guts.
Many times, talking to others about him, I have referred to him as “a figment of my imagination,” and “my all-powerful psychosis.” He joyfully laughs.
A very wise Indian fellow, or an Indian fellow we are supposed to think is wise, got awfully judgey when he said it is a terrible misconception that the governing force of the Universe is love. I mean, how sappy could we be? But the thing is, I know the Universe, have met it in a her/him person many times, and I can tell you for certain she is love-powered. She especially loves group hugs and jumping on your back for a piggyback ride. She giggles and sometimes covers your eyes as you run and run and run.