Nox Amicus

In a conversation a few weeks ago, the phrase “aspect of yourself” floated my way. My brain decided to slip down that rabbit hole, and realized that if you focus on an aspect of yourself – doesn’t that presuppose that you know yourself and your aspects – at least some of them? It was at that moment that a lot of things started to fall together.

This extends from the cloak I discussed in my last post. We wear cloaks to cover or protect ourselves – but, intentionally or not, they can sometimes mask who we really are. Wear a cloak long enough, you forget how to be naked.

I’ve been wrestling with “who am I?” for a few weeks now. I poked at it, meditated on it, and even looked up my favorite philosophers to re-frame the question. It wasn’t until I was walking through town one night that the realization struck me. I am Nox.

Before I continue, it should be noted that this only seems to be news to me. A most-trusted soul pointed out to me, in the midst of hell last year, that I was “more like Nox [years ago] than now”. There was also a lot of “who are you, really??” going on in 2012. It seems I was more lost than I realized – or was willing to hear.

So I’m Nox. Not just from the ‘kink’ perspective – but Nox is a guise I created specifically to give myself permission to be me, to want what I want, and to be worthy of it. My therapist pointed out some weeks ago that in the BDSM construct, as Nox I have permission to ‘be’ and want without fear of reprisal. Without fear of abandonment.

Obviously, this all flows from “don’t upset your mother”. It seems everything does. In the aftermath of that, I created a cloak where I would not upset my mother. I would stifle my needs or wants (tricky when you’re three years old), be unobtrusive, conciliatory… My sister used to call me Switzerland because I would be neutral and unoffending in everything. This was before my nickname became “sorry” for my predilection for apologizing. Don’t offend, don’t inconvenience, take a back seat, don’t step up. Be invisible and you won’t upset anyone. No one will go away.

This demureness was the opposite of what being a boy in the late 60s/early 70s was. I never really had the chance to be “a boy”; the rough and tumble, learn how to assert yourself, the stereotypical, western, societal male. I went so far afield from it that I never really developed a sense of assertiveness that would enable me to want or fight for anything.

As I grew, this cloak followed me – whether in grade-school afternoons spent with an abusive aunt, or in the first (and excruciatingly long) relationship I had. It wasn’t until my 33rd birthday that I finally started to break free from that whole cycle. Leaving my mother, my aunt, and girlfriend behind – I finally tried to move into adolescence – with disastrous results. I was sexually immature and inexperienced – I did not know “how” to be male.

I always sensed this, but never really dared acknowledge it until the subject of gender polarity in ritual came up recently. It dawned on me that when there are male/female characters in the songs I’ve written, I always identified with the female lyrics. This dovetailed nicely with the “lesbian sheep” analogy that was applied to me some months ago. Google that one if you haven’t heard it before.

I’ve been soft and nurturing my whole life – it was how I built value in my cloak. I would rarely let anyone do anything for me – whether it be massaging my shoulders, paying for lunch, or being sexually intimate. Sadly, it was rooted deep in my brain from a very young age that women don’t want sex, so it was unfathomable that a partner would ever actually ‘want’ to be sexual with me. My relationship role was to be unobtrusive, don’t inconvenience anyone – don’t act unless specifically urged to.

Fast forward to last year, before my worlds crumbled, I was standing in the shower and got a cold chill on the back of my neck and the name Artemis was stamped in my brain. I never understood why, but took it as something to be mindful of. The virginal huntress. Sure – that seemed to fit.

But it was far deeper than I could have suspected.

I think this past weekend was the first time I’d attended rituals on consecutive days. One was our normal one, but another was one where Artemis and Apollo were being called. What was interesting was that Herne was involved in the first ritual this weekend. I’d never worked with Herne before – I’d become very familiar with Manannán, but Herne was new to me.

It turns out that last minute switch from Manannán to Herne was fortuitous. I had the opportunity to commune with Herne, to taste his energy and to become comfortable with him. I understood “male” in a different way than I had through Manannán. I knew Manannán, and valued his goblet of truth – but as a sea god, he was fluid. Herne was earth. Solid. This was new for me.

The next night, I thought I was meeting Artemis for the first time. It turns out though that she was always there – from my earliest days, hers was that energy that moved with me and protected me. She was my sister, my protectress.

Then something amazing happened.

Apollo put his hand on my shoulder, and I feel like a baton was passed. Artemis passed me to her brother to help me the rest of the way on my journey. Kali, Pele, and Brighid are all prominent – as they have needed to be. But Apollo nodded to Herne and I felt a coming of age – and a step toward gender clarity.

I am allowed to be a man.

There it is. There is the block I’ve had for 47 years. I’m not beyond it, but I know what it is. The work now is putting the pieces together.

I don’t want to lose my nurturing nature, I don’t want to stop being empathetic. I treasure the lessons learned from my Yin – but I need to explore my Yang. That could get very interesting.

Above all though, I want to immerse myself in the balance. I think that the trials of all of those years give me a unique perspective. If I can effectively blend the masculine and feminine parts of myself, I think I can really be someone I can be proud of!

… and the adventure continues.