I drink too much wine. For the longest time I didn’t know why I can’t survive, each night after work, unless I pop yet another cork and pour an entire bottle into my belly. The warmth and comfort that flows into my veins, the sense of well-being, is a part of it. I am escaping the cold, dead reality of mundane life. Everyday life. But I am only treating the symptoms.
What is the cause? Why is mundane life – or shall we say sober life? – cold and dead for me? Many people out there are seemingly satisfied with tea alone.
The cliché, pop psychology answer is to blame my rough childhood. As a young boy I was incessantly punished, confined, deprived, and spanked with the WOODEN SPOON. I spent my childhood in a dark room devoid of any toys, contemplating my sins. It lasted for years and didn’t come to a stop until I finally grew big enough to beat the hell out of my father. I won’t bore you with the details. It was a bad childhood, but it could have been worse. However, I think the answer is deeper than explaining the situation by claiming my childhood worldview has become my adult worldview, and that by coming to terms with my childhood, I’ll fix my adulthood, or something like that. And then I’ll no longer need wine to kill the pain. It is something deeper.
Did you know Christianity has roots in the rituals of Bacchus? Bacchus was the God of Wine a long time ago. People, especially Athenian housewives, used to head for the hills or mountains of ancient Greece every once in a while, get very drunk and naked, sing and dance around, and give one another cunnilingus. It was a way to get away from the cold, dead reality of their mundane lives, because back then, a good Greek woman was not allowed to leave the house without her husband or male escort. For them, the occasional partaking of wine in the hills or mountains filled them with the Spirit. It allowed them to escape their everyday confinement. It was a spiritual experience. And knowing this makes the fact wine is called a “spirit” make sense. I think this line of thinking is called etymology. Perhaps I appear to be digressing, but stay with me. I’m explaining why my turning to the Christian Bible as a child turned me into an alcoholic. In my cold, dark room devoid of toys, I was allowed to turn my light on, but only to read the Christian Bible.
Yes, like I said, Christianity has roots in wine orgies. Wine is prevalent in Christianity. Jesus turned water into wine at parties. Wine is the blood of Christ. Somehow, these days, and the explanation is too long-winded for this article, we went from feeling the spirit of Bacchus by drinking a lot of wine to feeling the spirit of Christ by partaking of just a little bit of wine, or in some cases grape juice, or even water. In the sacrament of Bacchus we drank his blood by the keg, but with the sacrament of Christ, we settle for a modest taste. The difference is that with Christianity we feel the “Sprit” by provoking our drunkenness with prayer, song, fasting, etc. – all internal means. If we read the Christian Bible diligently enough, we will become drunk on the Spirit of Christ without taking a sip. We will feel the “burning in our bosom,” as the good book says. It is true. I have felt this burning, and I have been drunk too, and both sensations are very, very similar.
The part I didn’t tell you about my childhood was that while I was locked up and abused like a Greek housewife, I escaped from the cold, dead mundane, headed for the hills or mountains, by reading the Christian Bible, praying, etc. As a child I became addicted to the blood of Christ, for I survived by the Spirit, the burning in my bosom. I have a long story about how I once suffered Christianity withdrawals as if I were a long-time junkie coming off heroin... I became a better, happier person by casting Christianity aside, though it hurt a lot.
The point is I am an addict, always will be, and it will be a lifelong fight. My childhood is to blame. I am addicted to the Spirit, in its sundry forms. It started with Jesus and turned into his wine. It’s only recently I realized I’ve been feeding my addiction by swapping scripture for booze. In fact, I have become more primitive by seeking out and finding the original drug.
I’m not sure what I’ll do next. Maybe I’ll go masturbate while imagining the lesbian action and frenzy of a Bacchic Festival.
I’m not an alcoholic. I’m addicted to Spirits.
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