Music, in this leg of my journey, is playing a central role because it is a means by which I soothe my soul and quiet the turmoil of my mind. The chaos of my brain is stilled, if only momentarily, by the rhythm of music, by the sound of the human voice enraptured in song. It allows me to move with deliberation into moments of my life, memories, that are relevant to who I am and why I am the way I am.
Apollo is wise, and as the maxim says, all things must be taken in moderation, and the steps I take toward a sense of healing must come one at a time.
Meditating on a variety of thngs this week have lead me to some conclusions that I don't like, but which are true when I am honest with myself.
One of the things that has bothered, or even tormented me, in my life is my physical appearance. I have allowed myself to become fat and ugly in a world where beauty is a desired state. I have allowed myself to become fearful, in a world that requires courage. I have been isolated in a world that requires interaction.
All of these contribute to my "physical appearance" because, and I have to thank Apollo for this, I am beginning to see that I have not allowed myself to become these things, but have willfully become these things in an attempt to hide from something very fundamental to my nature as a human being, the idea that the son becomes the father.
My father is not a good man. Sure, he is fairly normal these days, but he is becoming an old man and, perhaps, is learning to regret much of what he did to us as we grew up. I, however, cannot forget, or at this point forgive, him for any of it. Yet my whole life I have been burdened with a problem, and that is that I look just like him. My facem hair, height, all of it a reflection of him, and I think part of me has purposely gone out of my way to stop myself from looking like him by deforming myself. But as he has ggrown older he too has become a bigger man, and I have managed to do the exact opposite, I have somehow made myself look more like him than ever before.
The curse of the self fulfilling prophecy.
Apollo was often invoked through a practice called incubation. It is a practice in which a god is invited to enter our dreams to help us see things clearly, to offer up advice on how to heal, etc.
Just two nights ago, after I extinguished my hearth candle and lay myself down to sleep, I invited Apollo to grant me a vision, a dream, that would help me, and in doing so I opened the door for all of this. I had a dream, and it was a very sexually charged dream, but one that remained strangely G rated, except for the nudity.
I was back in Cibao, in that house my mother had to fix up after my father abandoned us, and there was a tent outside, small, like something you take camping, and there was a huge orgy going on inside and I, and an unknown and essentially non-descript person, had a beautiful man, I recognize him now as singer and sometime porn actor Colton Ford, tied up. He was not a captive, he was a willing participant, and I, and the non-decript other, picked him up and took him to the tent ad put him inside.
I was welcome to come in, in fact, the beautiful man wanted me to come in, but I refused, staying outside and walking back into that house.
I woke up thnking it a strange dream, but now that i have given it some thought I am aware of something remarkable about the dream. I was a child when I lived in that house. And the tent was filled with adult activty. The beautiful man was inviting me to leave my childhood behind, to leave the pain and suffering of that childhood where it belonged, in the past, and join him in the adult world. To join him in rejoicing in being a living, breathing, and fully engaged human being. To join him in being a man and relegate the hurt boy to his proper place in my life.
It is an amazing thing to realize, of course, that a God has heard you and answered. I may not necessarily like what he has said to me, after all, if I am acting too much like a boy, not being a man in his eyes, than i am disappointing him. I am disappointing Apollo, and that is something else to deal with. Something hard.
The music is pushing me to seek myself out, and in so doing it is forcing me to face my inner choir. Those inner voices that sing the song that is me.
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