trial of god ii
I've thought quite a lot about my first post about Dionysos, about the context lost because I centered my grief. I think it's important to center myself in certain spiritual experiences, but when it came up in conversation that Dionysos's actions seem(ed) "cruel," I realised that I may have misrepresented him
I thought Dionysos was being unfair when he first revealed his plan to leave. I was knee-deep in the process of rearranging my life for him and he wanted to walk away? I imagined a world where he would deprive me of his presence but linger, invisible only to me. I assumed god would suffer no consequences. Why should he? He's god! So, it was easy for me to frame his decision and future absence as something being done to me rather than as something being shared by us. Back then, I misunderstood the stakes
Dionysos is gone. He's far away, and I know he's far because there's an ebbing that doesn't flow back in. I can sense the tether between us if I tug hard enough, but it lacks depth, like plucking at an untuned instrument. You must understand that it's a mutual absence. I can't see, hear, or feel him; he can't see, hear, or feel me. Or perhaps he does hear me, like a far off thought, as I write "Dear Dio" for the day or whisper his name to the shadows. I have seen god weep. Does he also ache when he turns away?
I once asked Ariadne, "Would Dionysos look back?"
"Yes," she said. She didn't hesitate
I have become his Eurydice, following this path blindly through the dark, and he has become my Orpheus, one who can't look back. This is our escape from the underworld, and all we really have is faith that we'll re-emerge into the light of day together
I miss him, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that he misses me too