Every family has secrets, and mine has a ton of them. Recently, I’ve been informed of a secret about me that my mother took to her grave. However, my aunt didn’t think there was any reason to keep it from me anymore, in light of my longheld religious choices. Yeah, it’s pretty juicy, and just happens to be related to another of our not-so-little secrets.
The first thing you should know is that the wonderful phenomenon called twins runs in our family. Normally, this would be great and joyous news, except that in nearly every set of twins, only one baby survives. It is something that nobody really talks about. You know, like those two plushy, pink elephants in the room…
My mother was a twin. Her twin sister died when they were six. I was a twin. My twin sister died before we were born. That, I knew, and have known for a long time. My mother told me how I nearly died along with my twin sister. She told me that she prayed and prayed and prayed, and that it was due to the answering of her prayers that I am alive at all. She always presented that story in the most Christian way possible, so I never expected the truth spoken by my aunt to be so shockingly sweet.
My mother, a reasonably devout Christian, prayed, but (and this is the part that brought tears to my eyes, as well as to my aunt’s) she didn’t pray to Yahweh, as she had been doing before losing my twin sister. In the midst of that crisis, and in her despair, instead of praying to her own god, who had been so seemingly unreceptive, she prayed to Apollo, whom she remembered was a twin himself, as well as a god of healing. Now, my mother didn’t spend a lot of time in school, if you know what I mean, but she remembered these strange and seemingly random bits of information, right when she needed them most.
In exchange for my life, my mother promised the god that she would leave me free to choose my own religion. She didn’t outright offer me to Apollo (although he would argue that point, as she was a little hysterical and likely didn’t fully understand what she was promising), but she never thought I’d choose to be anything other than Christian, either.
Miraculously I recovered, and was born, on time, a couple of months later. In keeping with her word, my mother refused to have any Christian blessings placed upon me, and steadfastly refused to allow me to be Baptized into any Church, ever. We did attend several churches, as she was a Christian and had hoped that I would take a liking to one of the many variations of the “one true religion”, but she never forced Christianity on me.
Eventually, I would happen upon Wicca, and their idea of real, feminine divinity would capture my heart, leading me first to Hekate, and onward past Wicca, until finding my own way to the god who had shaped my life from the very beginning. Although, if I am to be completely honest, Apollon is the one who chased me down with a pack of wolves, until I submitted myself to him, totally. That is how I initially became his possession, or rather, how I came to acknowledge his very crucial role in my life.
I can hardly believe it. I never ever expected this kind of confirmation of my personal gnosis. After all these years, after all this time, wondering if I’m crazy… That kind, soothing voice in my head was telling the truth. I was his all along. I was always his.
Hail to you, Apollon, my Lord! My Prince! I thank you for saving my life, for you are the reason that I live! My life is your gift, and I promise to do your Work so long as it pleases you, as I hope to become a beacon of your light in this world!
Hail Apollon and Blessed Be!