I knew Him first as Meilikhios, though I didn’t have that name to give Him. He came in a dream when I was a girl of thirteen, on the edge of womanhood. A handsome dark haired youth with an enticing, comforting presence, flaming an ardent desire to experience all that life had to offer – be it joy or grief, ecstasy or terror. A hopeless romantic, as many girls of thirteen are, I had imagined that I dreamt my soul-mate, and was certain that one day I would meet Him.
(I did eventually meet my soul-mate many years later – a blond haired, blue eyed Irishman who loves to laugh, whose handsome face is lined with all the cares of a life time. He is responsible for those precious moments of happiness that would shine through in even the darkest times.)
Then, along with puberty, came the depression and all the years fluctuating between nothingness and despair. I had forgotten Him somewhere in the midst of that. As a young woman I fell in love with Jim Morrison and his Dionysian dream. I felt Neitzche speak to me. But even though I left the church of my youth and embraced paganism whole heartedly, I had forgotten what I once knew as the child who wanted to run with Artemis: that the Gods of Greece were real. They were alive and to be adored.
I can’t say if He was with me through those years. I remember moments of connection breaking through the veil of medicated nothingness, but I didn’t know who or what I was connecting with. Sometimes I imagined it to be the Christian God; others times, the God of Wicca. It depended on where my attempts at faith had lead me. I might have been correct in my imaginings. I certainly bear no ill will towards those entities and can easily picture one or both of Them reaching out to someone who sincerely sought Their guidance.
I like to think He was there, though – watching, guiding. Perhaps living in the madness itself.
Many, many years later I did remember. I remembered my early love of the Theoi. I remembered wishing so desperately that it was still OK to worship them.
Then all it took was reading His name, and it all came rushing back. Connections and connections and connections. Even that long forgotten dream.
It has not been easy these last several years. I have had glimpses of His other faces. It is almost a cliché that when Dionysos comes into your life, He tears you apart and strips you to the bone, thus making room for that which you might become.
He has shown me the depths of my own madness, the depression, and I looked it in the face, and knew that I was stronger than it.
This work, though never complete, has reached a point of balance.
I sense a new phase of my relationship with Him is on the horizon. I don’t know what form it will take, but I look forward with eagerness and dread.