Sunday March 17th 2013
Yes, there is a yard or two of ground prepared and
yes there are Sprouting Potato to plant, and yes the morning is "rain
last night," or if your prefer "cloud and mud." I guess too, it
would be a very good time to take on quantities of alcohol sufficient to
reduce the remainder of the day to a discordant blur, as the rivers run
green, and far away Beautiful Fairies emerge from their burial mounds to
cajole and tempt us mortals, and if you ask why the great poets die
young, it's because they surrender to the prettiest or handsomest Pixie.
But many more of us who develop a familiarity with the Dionysian
Challenge begin to appreciate the every-day-ness of Saint's Days, such
that for some of us what's loosely referred to as 'sobriety' can only be
achieved within the confines of the Devil's own holding cell.
I guess I have to admit that the
Dionysian Challenge, is no more than my own reading of an ancient cult.
"Bacchus, and the Baccalaureate," I could call it. The challenge, it seems
to me, was to put drunken revelry, orgiastic behavior and excess under
the charge of an equivalent to something like Bishops rather than Barmen,
Bouncers and the Magistrates Court. In the golden era, before a person
could indulge in the jolly good fun of an altered and often barbaric state,
he or she endured an initiation by officers of the faith that insured the
soundness and quality of what was considered a spiritual experience.
In short, in past time, it was less like being an entitled lunatic, than it
was like practicing a warranted religion. Either way, freeze or frost,
the rain gauge is returned to the rain gauge holder, because not knowing how
much rain fell last night is more than my own being can comfortably manage.