The Rite Remains the Same

The god erupts wherever we gather—

in the gasp before the drumbeat,

in the shiver that climbs the spine

like a serpent waking to sunlight.

We are the wine spilling over the rim,

the feet that forget the ground,

the mouths that open not to speak

but to let the god roar through.

They tried to chain the frenzy,

to name it sin, to bury it deep—

but ecstasy is a root that splits stone,

and every body remembers the way home.

We rise laughing, trembling, undone,

vines in our hair, fire in our breath,

for the world cannot silence a god

who dances in human bones.

Eo Evohé—

the rite remains,

and we remain with it.