Dionysus Vs. Apollo Creed
“Abashed the Devil stood and felt how awful goodness is.” ~ Milton
This is but a small measure’s worth of random brain spatterings.
The nerves, they reel and shudder, though consciousness endures. She is relentless.
And still I die.
Awake at last, though remaining half entombed in this old man, clinging to my body, carnal propensities lodged within my soul, still rooted somehow. There is a sweetness in this death, when I allow it to be such, when I bring it all kicking and screaming to the altar of what has been done. I am alive and it has been finished. All that is within me.
Everything I know is at war…but I am at peace. At last, all is not lost.
Half alive. Entirely foreign paradigm. All of this is still somehow new to me.
Ringside seats to the fight of your life. You are fighting, but there is nothing you can do.
You just watch.
As the fear grows, and you try to take control, you begin to sink beneath the surface of the storm that you have made. And the wind howls.
Remember. Then strength returns.
You just watch.
Everything undone before me. Nothing I could do. Suddenly released again and pain…all that pain…
Release. The spirit yearns. Willing.
The old man dies. Gnashing and cursing, dissolving slowly but surely at first, then in great, sweeping waves of ridiculous victory, the tide of battle turns.
Rise up. Arise and shine.
