A convenient oneiric phenomenology of Apollo the Destroyer, aka the Holy Boy Imago.

I quote wholesale from a kindred resource, with no attribution, because I'm primarily interested in the NONPERSONAL aspects of this. My apologies to the actual person who experienced this & wrote it up so nicely. The imagery is worthy of Dr. Seuss, the Dante of the 20th C., in my grandiose opinion. I'd rather let this stand, cleanly, for a while, before I spatter it with my own interpretations. Let me say, only, that this piece strikes me as the clearest exposition of certain things that I've seen in a while.

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There’s a memory of a one-way street on the edges of a town. It leads to an abandoned warehouse that no one comes around, anymore. The floors are old and dusty, machinery discarded. Birds are making homes in the high ceilings. There’s nothing familiar to hear, until a boys sweet laughter, like those in dreams, enter this vision. My whole perception of the place changes. From across the buildings dirty floor he comes running to me, parting clusters of birds on his way. Midway, I see his face. He’s cute, very cute. Mop-hair flopping with his strides, cheeky English smile -- familiar, but nobody I can remember. His giggles are gaining potency the closer he comes. Faster and faster they get. Louder and louder they seem. He’s almost to me when his little mouth starts to open. Fangs, black ones, too large to be his own, are first to be seen. I focus on them for a moment. I can’t run -- he’s still just a sweet little boy coming to see me. His mouth never stops opening, though. By the time he reaches me, giggles and big, black fangs are all he is; like the skeletal jaws of a Great White. I’m paralyzed by fear and hope that he'll change back. But instead he just swallows me.

I wake up.

A couple times a year for many.

I hate this dream.


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---Didaskalos