Sometimes during a shamanic drumming I meet also others, different creatures. Dolphin and salmons. Salmons pay me a lovely visit, swimming in the neverending sea of my imagination, flopping back laughing in a joy. I usually take them with me on the land holding their bodies under my arm like a handbag. Hence I love to eat them on the material layer of my human being, our connection is a little bit silly.
But dolphin, that old fashioned pinky pie! (Flash would tell you more, because he always loved my dolphin stories. As well as those about ships I sunk.) I accepted him, that clever cheeky beast. First time we met, I asked him, to stop staring at me. I didn't want him as a friend. Last time I stayed infront of the tree door. "Open that b* door you f* dolphin bastard, I know that's you behind it!" He was wearing a white apron. To underline my calm hate for him indeed.
And then there are my real realm advisors. Magpie mostly. Symbolically chatting with me, quite often, through her flight, moving, buttons, beads and other treasures. Sometimes she leads me in a dream into the forest where you can be initiated to the deepest sacred secrets of nature if you are not affraid or shy to enter it naked and sacrifice some mead.
Bear, my shadowy shadow full of gray mist. The one who takes advantage everytime I spot something that can be motherly, unreasonably rescued. I'm aware of my major issue with Ursa Major. Good for me. I can't salve everyone. Pitty that I naturaly want to, but I'm always able to switch to my selfish personality mood and see a success in every of my failures as an overprotector.
And, finally, there are my shapeshifts. Black dog sleeping under the trees with redish leaves in the corner of unknown cemetery, behind the majestical metal gate. Doe running through the forest scratching her fur in the rush, feeling her blood pumping in adventure.
Yeah yeah, I know that you know. She-wolf. Kinda fylgja, kinda húgr.
Adela told me a few days ago... "You should stop talking with vampires. You are a werewolf. Taken."
"Why do you think I'm a werewolf? I never bit you." I giggled.
"Well, you are sleep-howling."
I don't think I'm a werewolf. I don't think I ever was. I'm too cold blooded to be one. Even Rorschach proved it wrong in the end. But I enjoy this kind of wolf cub shift form probably the most. At least most usually. And usually not alone.
Nowadays scented with the blend of cigarettes and chocolate.
I am who I am.
Still the same.