May Dionysos bless the roads
that collapse beneath your feet,
the tattered plans, the beckoning abyss,
for they will force you to discover
paths no map remembers,
and your true measure.

May your certainties ripen,
split open, and spill their seeds
into stranger soil.

May you never become
so comfortable
that wonder cannot find you.

May your failures
ferment into success,
your grief
into tenderness,
your anger
into justice,
and your joy
into generosity.

May you meet
the right people
at the wrong time,
and discover,
years later,
that the Gods
keep better time
than you ever could.

May every closed door
teach you to look for hidden gates.

May your enemies
become your teachers.
May your victories
leave you humble,
your losses
leave you grateful,
and your questions
remain larger
than your answers.

When the world demands
that you become smaller,
may the Lord of the Vine
teach you instead
how to become immense.

And when your life
has been crushed
like grapes beneath the press,
may those who drink
from the vintage of your days
taste courage,
kindness,
laughter,
and freedom—
and give thanks
to Dionysos,
who wastes
nothing.