Onward, Toward Phoibos

Things are changing in my cozy little world with Apollon.  I’ve gotten comfortable, I’ve gotten used to the ways in which I have related to Apollon for these last seven years.  Knowing Him has always before been like riding the edge of a massive storm, or being sucked into it. He has been harsh, never mincing His words or holding back in His actions.  He’s taught me so much under the epithets I’ve primarily interacted with Him as.  But, although those parts of Him are still here and are still of great importance to our unique relationship, now is the time for them to step quietly back, and to allow a new aspect to receive my primary devotion.

It was a year, perhaps two years ago, that I received an oracle from one of my Sisters, wherein Apollon had announced His intention to shift the dynamics of our relationship.  I did not fully understand this intention, at the time.  I was content, as I always had been, with dwelling in the midst of Apollon as Despota, Krysaoros, Telchinios and Lykeios.  I thought there would be no need for me to further understand Him as Phoibos (Phoebus, as my Roman Sister had said in the oracle).  But I was wrong.

His brightness is deep and powerful, and incendiary.  It is also warm and compassionate.  I think that warmth and compassion may have been two of the things most obviously lacking in our relationship.  To say that He has pushed me hard in the seven years that I’ve been exclusively His would be the grossest of understatements.  I have come to love Him in His harshness, to appreciate His care and concern, to revel in His possessiveness, and so now, as those lessons have become so deeply a part of me, He moves toward a new set of lessons, from a different part of Himself.

Like casting a light onto what no longer serves His fullest purposes, He shows me that it is not acceptable for me to become stagnant within His familiar forms.  It is time to move onward, toward Phoibos, to celebrate His light, to see through eyes unclouded.  What I will find there, I do not know.  I couldn’t even venture to guess.  It is dangerous to look directly into the sun, so perhaps my attention is better served by acknowledging that which He illuminates– to turn myself in the direction of His nod, or His gaze.  And perhaps, in so doing, in allowing His light to envelop me, I may In fact better notice my own shadow, casting darkness in my wake.  And perhaps I will learn to understand and accept myself in my totality, for that shadow is a part of me.

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