Today I want to write about the gods. Today I want to express the things which are difficult to articulate: the awe and the grandeur, the "wooshy-ness" (to use a phrase coined by Dreyfus and Kelly), the totality of the ineffable reality that is the dé ochus andé. I want to scream from the bottom of my being, to the apex of the tallest hilltop. I want to do all of this, but I withdraw. I repress. I remain at a loss for words.
For someone who is so accustomed to scholarship and discourse, who has a carefully sculpted demeanor of being calm and measured, of having an outwardly limited range of expression; the notion is not paralyzing, but only just.
How can I even begin to explain just how good the gods are? Just how magnificent the shining ones appear? How much unabashed joy I experience simply by reading of their exploits? How complete and full my life is because they are a part of it? Why I look forward to every new moon, if only to share with others who may just feel the same way, if at a distance?
It is why I leap at every and any chance I get to have a conversation with whoever will listen, about the topic of religion, or myth, or even culture. It is why I type my meandering thoughts out, for others to see. It is why I am probably the only person at my place of buisness who, aside from my employer, understands that our job has a component of the sacred in it. It is why my book shelves groan under the weight of books few would find interesting, but are none the less a source of pride and fascinaion.
All this and more, so much more I wish to express; but here I type, befuddled.
If I know anything, I know the gods abide.
And that is enough.
P.S. So I have a review of "Brave" in the works, look for it soon.