I got a bottle of this wine yesterday, purely because of the name on the bottle. The winery took its name from the works of Rabelais, as Crowley did.
I hesitate to pull the cork and sip the wine.
Why? Is this hesitation symbolic, or is merely because I do not want to see this potential poured out, this packet of delight transformed into an empty bottle? Is there a ritual waiting to be formulated, a sacrament waiting to be performed with with this wine?
Wine is as sacred as one makes it. I put it up for later. There will be a time and a place for this cork to be pulled. Perhaps I’ll be invited to a meeting of the Hellfire Club and I’ll need a bottle for a toast, or perhaps some other rite is coming in due time.
