'Tis the Season

No, no I could not think of a more original title.

There are two main areas within my headspace that I access. One is set in the middle of a forest, surrounded by greenery and a small stream. This is the area in which the postbox is located, situated neatly as it is in what we generally refer to as Little Tree. The second area is a strip of beach, hemmed in by cliffs with a lighthouse visible in the distance.

As December approaches, I took a customary wander around the areas to see if anything was new. The postbox was empty - but as I backed away from it I could not help but do a double-take. "Was...was Little Tree always shaped like a Christmas tree?" Killy shrugged. "'Tis the season."

As if this weren't surreal enough, a visit to the beach reduced me to a disbelieving stare. Perched cheerfully atop the lighthouse was very distinctly an enormous, bright red Santa hat.

"Oh now that's just not possible!"
"It is your mind."
"But-"
"I dunno, I kind of like it."

King of the River

Killy has taken the common kingfisher as his primary form for the past three days now. Neither of us seem particularly certain as to why beyond his own thoughtful comment that he "liked the headfluff crest thing". It's interesting having a form capable of fitting in a majority of places, I will say that; on my desk, perching on the seat rest in front of me while on the bus, tucked against my shoulder in a crowd...I was able to visualise him consistently while at work for what may well be the first time ever, for he was able to perch within my line of 'sight'.

One Day Nearer to Dying

The headspace gave me a pillow for my birthday. Not a fancy pillow, merely a plain white one. I've stopped trying to make sense of anything it does, ever.

Fake Moustaches and Glasses

Within the daemian community, Indy suggested an activity wherein each day we organise to swap forms with another member. It's nice to note it has been a resounding success; even daemons who are normally reluctant and uncomfortable with changing forms, like my Killy, seem to be getting into the swing of things, as evidenced by the mongoose sitting on my desk.

For amusement's sake, I present you with my week's schedule. (Thursday is absent as I'd like to be myself on my birthday.)

Sat: Dingo
Sun: Slender mongoose
Mon: Axolotl
Tues: Blue Jay
Wed: Raccoon
Fri: Ibizian hound

Sign Here Please

I received another letter recently - well, package more than letter. I was surprised, because although Alex has gone on another of his little sojourns into the deeper recesses of my mind, I did not think this was from him. Who it was from remains uncertain, as inside the plain white box was an impossible amount of bubble-wrap, and a single folded piece of blue cardboard, about an inch and a half square, with the word "Hi" handwritten on the inside. Killy and I spent a while wondering if it meant something significant before hesitantly deciding not everything had to have a purpose, and that sometimes my brain is just weird.

That decision became a lot more concrete when the postbox started offloading an alarming amount of fruit, forcing me to duck a wayward orange.

Moral of the story: do not install a postbox in your mind. It is far more trouble than it's worth.

Surf and Sand

If I were to ever doubt my love of the beach, I would only have to look to Kilmaeyon for proof otherwise. My coyote, my sardonic, brusque, occasionally caustic daemon...goes completely goofy. The moment we hit the sand he is alert, ears pricked forward and a loping bounce to his step. A section is claimed, towel placed down with keys carefully wrapped inside, and then we turn to the surf. He bounds amongst the shallow waves, snapping at the froth and shaking free of the rolling breakers, pushing forward until it is so deep he is forced to paddle, fur fanning from his body in a golden fringe.

It is then he changes. The restrictions we so frequently battle against are eased by the simple fact coyotes are not built for the sea, and soon enough there is a pale-furred sea otter floating alongside me, cresting low waves on his back only to bolt under the surface and dart about me as something bigger comes crashing down. He laughs, a solid sound compared to his quiet chuckles, chasing imaginary fish.

This last holiday I was fortunate to have the opportunity to spend several hours riding a family friend's jet ski; it is a canine's delightful dream, streaking across the surface of light-speckled water with the wind drying the spray from your face almost before it has landed. Killy accepted the challenge with no hesitation, a grey splash of dolphin easily keeping up, flicking his tail to arch through the air in glee, circling about us in impatient acrobatics should we be forced to slow. If we fell he would roll in encouragement, perhaps offer his own incentive by stretching his form into that of the shark, grinning a sinister approval as I scramble to climb aboard again. And when tired of this racing, desiring closeness, a damp scrap of harvest mouse clings to my shoulder just below my ear, thin tail streaming out behind.

It was also a holiday that followed a period where I have communicated with Alex more frequently than ever before, and so for the first time I was able to hear his opinion on the happenings, however brief. For all that he was born on the coast, he has no recollection of spending any time at beaches, and so seemed to regard the sea and its tumbling surf with apprehensive awe. He was not, unfortunately, remotely interested in sharing many related experiences, and indeed countered my request to "see what jet skiing's like!" with an alarmed "Why?"

General Business

Alex and I have been spending time alternately discussing his sister in order to try and strike up a connection with her, and seeing if we can't craft a bit of the headspace into a suitable living area for he and possibly/hopefully she. He quite likes my memory of my grandparents' old place, but that comes complete with all the exact furniture and whatnot, which I tend to find a little eerie. I can't help but be somewhat worried that if he did take up residence there, the new memories would get mixed up with the old ones. But there's no real hurry at the moment, so we'll continue looking.

Night On the Town

On Monday (now why would I post these things as they actually happen?) I spent most of the day finishing an assignment and handing it in. After that I decided that was it for my bloody work-related effort for the day and skipped my tute for a trip to the city.

The daemon would like to take this moment to interject and point out that the author is a very bad person and her work ethic should not be emulated under any circumstances.

Alex turned out to be in a rather tolerant mood, and so after purchasing dinner I decided to take the opportunity to drag him around a bit of my city while he indulgently listened to my excited ramblings ("You've finally had the chance to travel, you might as well enjoy it!") and Killy pulled that lazy grin of his. Most of the movies ran too late given that I wanted to be home by eight at the latest, so we simply wandered while I conducted the scattiest tour known to man.

It turned out they had temporarily erected an absolutely enormous ferris wheel next to the river, and I figured that was entertainment enough, and forked over fifteen dollars for a ride (it was a very fancy ferris wheel; AC and all). There was an amusing moment in the line when the lady was collecting my ticket and asked if it was just me, for I very nearly replied, "What? No, I'm with him," before recalling that him didn't exactly count to the majority of the corporeal world. So, frankly, it was quite a deal, with fifteen dollars for two adults and a coyote - bargain.

And then I bought icecream with cookie dough because one should never pass up icecream with cookie dough.

All in all, a much more preferable night to slumping in uncomfortable chairs and pretending to care about my classmates poetry, don't you agree?

(Remember - very bad person.)

Homecoming Queen

Alex returned yesterday. Seems well. Also seems ready to start trying a few techniques suggested. Wish us luck.

Package for Riverside

I sent Alex a letter: "Where are you?"

He sent one back yesterday: "I'm fine."

Oh yeah, we've got this communication thing down good.

Operation: Family Reunion

A month or two ago I had the unpleasant experience of noticing a substantial amount of frustration echoing from Alex's end. As if this weren't concerning enough, some of the frustration appeared to be directed at myself, and so naturally I was anxious to understand the cause of this unhappiness and what I could do in order to alleviate it. Alex was not initially cooperative - I think he may have had some doubts regarding my ability to help, largely centred around my age - but eventually we managed to find time and, a touch grudgingly, willingness to talk.

It turned out to be largely a positive thing. As far as our relationship goes, I (like to) think it assisted in at least providing some proof that I do care, and that I am capable of seriousness when it is called for. We did also manage to locate the source of the tension.

Unfortunately, it was here that we struck a problem. If the issue had been merely boredom, the potential solutions would have been vast - options abound both inside and outside the headspace. However, what Alex missed was the one thing I did not, and do not, feel certain I can provide: his sister. It is not only her absence that he is all too conscious of, but the fact that while he is here there is no chance to do anything towards finding and helping her, and for someone as dedicated as Alex it is a position that gradually grew to near-unbearable levels, thus sparking the frustration.

For the most part, I would be more than happy to have his sister here. There are a few small worries that come up, some more selfish than others, and also the very real problem that it may turn out to be an impossibility. I do not adopt headmates to the degree of Alex frequently or easily, and not every character I connect to makes it to a potential stage, let alone a fully-fledged one.

Nonetheless, I believe we aim to try. It's hard to deny him this when I'm more than aware of just how much she means to him, so as of yet our main problem revolves around how. Discussion with friends has lead to several potential starting points, and Alex himself has abruptly become absent - I can only hope he is doing some investigation of his own, for although he is within his rights to, I must admit I'd be sad if he chose to vacate for good.

As for myself, there are a few exercises I'm going to try, namely around the headspace and the character of the sister; in a sense, trying to make the former accepting of the latter. I have not interacted with my headspace a great deal, so this exercise is clumsy at best, but hopefully will get easier as I go on.

Operation: Family Reunion is go.

Temper, Temper

Killy is a very calm daemon, at least when it comes to the outside world. I am a fairly emotional person and although I have a reputation for being adept at keeping control of my temper, the calmness I present is usually little more than a facade. I tend to release anger privately, sketching out great long novellas in my head involving everything I would like to say and do, plans drawn up for the day I might be able to let loose. And throughout my fuming, seething rage, Killy is perfectly calm. At this point in time I can think of exactly two experiences that made Killy noticably peevish; one was the unexpected and brusque physical action from a co-worker (he laid his ears back and bared his teeth), and the other was consistent advances from someone I wasn't fond of (I had to censor him for the first time in my life). But even then you would hardly label it more than irritation.

Indeed the only time he truly expresses anger is in regards to myself. I have been growled at, snapped at, and even shouted at. He has even made attempts to bite me, and although no harm can be done, the message is clear.

Some might interpret this as budding self-loathing. I, however, have a different view. Yes, Killy can frequently represent the part of me that is too hard on itself. But why should he be angry with outside issues when I can do it just fine on my own? He provides a counterbalance to my brief bursts of fury, and pushes me when I would let a private misdemeanour pass. Together, we manage to cover all the bases.

I suppose that's worth the incorporeal toothmarks.

Analysing

With the concept of settling - the eventual discovery of the animal form that best represents your personality - being a fairly foundational part of daemonism, it's no real surprise that it is also a big part of the community. Analyses, reverse analyses, and other methods of assisting in finding the form are immensely popular. And for a good reason as well, as they make sound guides in what can sometimes be a rather stressful journey. (Not that I can really talk about stressful on account of being irritatingly lucky with my form-finding.) With so much of it being rather vague, any reassurance of being on the right track is welcome.

Yet I worry that the community slowly comes to rely on these methods of assistance too much and strays away from the true function of the settled form. The function of a daemon crosses into many different areas, but the function of a settled form is to allow a person to better understand themselves. It's introspection, plain and simple. It's not always going to be a sudden epiphany, or a situation where the daemon apparently known instinctively just what form to take.

So trawling through analyses to find one that fits, or asking people what they think about the suitability of every form the daemon frequents, or posting RA after RA...seems like it only makes everything more stressful. These methods start shifting from a helpful asset to a crutch, and the idea of exploring yourself in order to find the form starts creeping out the window. The process gets swapped, and while it might work for some, I'm sure it can't be good for others.

I imagine this makes me sound like a cranky old fogey grumbling about the rise of taxes. And it's not really as though it's some new phenomenan. I just like to fret.

With a Little Flourish

Me: You're lucky, man. I was totally going to have you put your hands on your hips and huff about the lack of soup like an old woman.
Alex: ...I would never do that.
Me: Well they don't know that.

The restart of the roleplay Alex was originally created for always seems to bring us a little closer together, if only so he can make attempts on my life should I be straying wildly off character.

Definitive

According to the old-fashioned, traditionalist definition of soulbonding, I apparently have soulbonds out the wahzoo. This...amuses me immensely. But honestly, for me to relate strongly to a character is very frequent, particularly if they are one of my own. Considering how much time I spend trying to get inside their minds I'd be a little disappointed if I didn't succeed in some way.

Nonetheless, there doesn't seem to be any real point in listing and labelling what I tended to refer to as 'flickers' - a flicker of thought, emotion, existence - given that Alex himself is an unreliable source of interest.

Blinders

Me: -Unhooking bra to get ready for shower- So Alex, do-
Alex: NO DON'T TALK TO ME RIGHT NOW.

It seems communication enhances his perception of the 'outside world' as it were, and this is not always so desired. That perhaps explains why he tends to be even more reclusive during my menstruation cycle, and flat-out refused to respond when I had food-poisoning.

Famous

Killy's taken to moonlighting as an American kestrel on occasion.

Why?

Because one of its many nicknames is the 'killy hawk'.

It seemed appropriate.

Tweaking

Making adjustments to a character is suddenly more difficult when that character is there. And particularly when the character is not overly keen on sharing information himself. I think part of the problem is neither Alex nor I really see him as a different entity to the character itself; therefore any changes on one's behalf still has an effect on the other. This makes me a little wary about getting anything 'wrong', because there is now a 'wrong' when he's here to correct me. It's now a matter of negotiation and insistent questioning than "Hey, it might be better if this was like that."

On the other hand Alex does sometimes supply information on his own and save me the trouble. Sometimes.

Banalities

The urge some daemons get to socialise - I don't understand it. I cannot think what there is to talk about but the humans. Perhaps that seems pathetic at a glance, but who do you think I am? Or is the real question who do you think I'm not? The answer is simpler than people try to make it. I am the inside that focusses on the inside. I am she. You cannot look to the left leg and expect it to function apart from the whole. You cannot look to the daemon and expect the human to make itself absent.

On the whole, it seems easier to converse with the one who has mouth and fingers. You will hear from me - when you speak to her.

-Killy

Peter Pan Syndrome

Killy and I have taken to something that is half a game, and half quiet desperation - practising the state of being unsettled. It sounds fairly ridiculous even to me, and I'm the one for whom it's of most importance. After all, surely you are unsettled, or you aren't; what need could there be of practice?

Quite a lot, at least for someone with my particular mash of circumstances. In my opinion, settledom is not as easily definable a state as many claim. It's true that in some cases someone can tell which state 'feels right', but to say every person can immediately tell whether they're un or settled, no questions asked, is inaccurate. I know this for certain, because at fifteen years of age I was absolutely, one hundred percent certain I was settled. Three years later, and I kind of want to give that fifteen year old a sharp smack over the back of the head. There is just no way I was settled then, and my little delusion ended up proving somewhat harmful in the long run. At eighteen years old, over halfway to nineteen, I want to be unsettled.

The worst of it is I probably am. The older I get, the older I believe the settling margin to be. It's a continuing debate and I won't go into it here, but the fact of the matter is there is still a great deal left for me to experience, and my personality is likely still forming itself into the more or less stable entity it will be for my adulthood. But because I believed myself to be settled for so long, and because I was enough of a lucky bastard to actually find the form that seriously seems to be my final one, we're finding it nearly impossible to enjoy the true fluidity that unsettledom is supposed to bring. We've already found coyote, identified it as us, and held the form for nearly three years. It's so hard to change.

And yes, I mean that literally. Killy has no real incentive to change, though he does try to humour me on occasion. Not only that, but it often feels forced, awkward, incomplete. Some would say this indicates I'm settled - I say it's an indication of habit that we probably won't be able to break before true settledom finds us. Eighteen might be too young, but perhaps not by a whole lot. I already threw away the proper experience of being unsettled, and now when I'm trying to grasp at it, it's not coming.

So we practise. We make an agreement and a conscious attempt to play around with other forms. It's not exactly what you'd call successful. It still feels stilted, and the moment we let our attention drift away from the exercise - game? - he automatically reverts back to the form we're used to. We simply won't ever achieve the wistful goal of being purely unsettled, because we're not. We already know about coyote. We already have that home base.

We merely have to content ourselves with the occasional dabbling in Neverland.

Fronting

Fronting is a fairly interesting phenomenan, but I can't say I have a lot of experience with it. Some people seem like they can flick mentalities with little more than a twitch of their pinkies, but I can wriggle my whole body around and still remain firmly settled within it. Admittedly I don't try particularly hard. I'm kind of attached to my body, what with it being mine. And how is one supposed to go about trying to boot the main mind out of the front seat anyway? It doesn't help that neither Alex nor Killy actually desire to front - Alex doesn't really want to walk around in a teenage female's body, and Killy is effectively me anyway, though there have been reported cases of daemons fronting.

In the end, the few times fronting occurs, it tends to be a) very brief, and b) initiated by accident. Apparently I need to take myself by surprise in order to surrender control. The most recent, and at the time of this post most significant, incident took place two mornings ago. I'd had a dream in which I was Alex - it was as nonsensical as any other, so just a standard dream rather than a memory. (Unless Alex has been chased by rampaging somethings through a shopping mall and neglected to mention it.) I can only assume this meant I was still kind of in his frame of mind when I woke up, probably helped by the fact I was naturally rather dozy. Normally when I wake I rub at my face with fingers or knuckles; that morning, I did a firm swipe from forehead to chin with my palm. Not a very dramatic moment of fronting, I know, but it startled me all the same, because it felt unnatural and masculine. The oddness was enough to snap me back into control.

So for my 'most significant' moment it was decidedly uneventful. Curious, but uneventful. At least I have very few fears about Alex burning the house down via my body if all he can manage is a sleepy face-wipe.

Standard Greetings

Hello, and welcome to To Be Perceived. The name is an attempt at being clever, referring to one philosophy's stance on existence - to be is to be perceived.

Chances are you've found this place via the home site, but for safety's sake we'll list a few basic points of interest here. This blog will form a compilation of musings, anecdotes, and reflections regarding personal experiences in both daemonism and soulbonding. (For information on daemonism please see here, and for information on soulbonding please wander in that direction.)

I'm Winger, and I'll most likely be the narrator for a majority of the time, being the original and base person. Kilmaeyon, or Killy, is my generally coyote-formed daemon. And Alex is a post-apocalyptic character who became solid enough to hold his own. We're a mismatched trio in some ways, but we all get along well enough to not cause too much mental chaos.

And then sometimes stuff happens. Hope it's of interest.