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Feb. 24th, 2006
Vacanthropy
Feb. 24th, 2006 09:05 pmThe stench of body odor and dead things carried on the breeze. Down below, in a well-used campground, people hovered around a smoldering fire. Some danced and some sat whispering amongst themselves. Ornate skulls and strips of pelts were festooned before tent openings. One of the dancers wore the full strapped-on skin of a wolf. Its vacant eye-holes mirrored nothingness, the blank stare of the void. A few drummed with severe expressions, palms slapping the taut heads in arrhythmic fervor. Someone laughed shrilly and stole bites off a chocolate bar. The melted chocolate on her fingers and lips resembled the blood of some small forest creature that the party had shot with a bee-bee gun earlier for the sole use of its blood as spiritual decoration. Most of those present had dabbed the blood on their foreheads, in stripes down their cheeks, or smeared across their lips.
The wolfskin dancer raised his head and let loose an all-too-human howl through blood-cracked lips. Some in the circle, including the drummers, joined in the din. Still others who clustered just outside the circle jeered and snickered amongst themselves at the display. Those that grouped apart from the circle were indeed animal-people, and as such had no need for ever discussing such phenomenon unless it was to tear down those not among their ranks. The pseudo-shamanistic Newage spewed by the illogical, unscientific ferals in the circle was beneath them. Yet jabs behind backs and jabs in the front were okay because no matter how one group disdained the other they were united by a common community.
Those within the circle honored their animal natures through sacrificing small animals, through anointing in blood, and by expressing their essence through the pelts of their inner self. It wasn't important where the pelts or bones came from because they were being recycled and honored as demanded by their spirit (or spiritual residue in some cases). To be a wolf was to don the pelt of a wolf, to psychically see through its non-existent eye holes, to gnash blood-smeared lips and howl to one’s brethren. To be one's animal was to be as taboo as possible in every way so as to distance oneself from the human detriments of responsibility and modesty. They knew the cliques beside them scoffed at them from time to time, but it mattered little because they were all united by the silver chord of community.
Above the noise and stink of the campground a silver figure had paused to watch and listen. Hearing enough, the figure bounded far away beneath the cold moonlight. There was more to learn under the stars, among the trees, through the snow, beside the brook, listening to the wind, watching the birds, being still, remaining silent.
The wolfskin dancer raised his head and let loose an all-too-human howl through blood-cracked lips. Some in the circle, including the drummers, joined in the din. Still others who clustered just outside the circle jeered and snickered amongst themselves at the display. Those that grouped apart from the circle were indeed animal-people, and as such had no need for ever discussing such phenomenon unless it was to tear down those not among their ranks. The pseudo-shamanistic Newage spewed by the illogical, unscientific ferals in the circle was beneath them. Yet jabs behind backs and jabs in the front were okay because no matter how one group disdained the other they were united by a common community.
Those within the circle honored their animal natures through sacrificing small animals, through anointing in blood, and by expressing their essence through the pelts of their inner self. It wasn't important where the pelts or bones came from because they were being recycled and honored as demanded by their spirit (or spiritual residue in some cases). To be a wolf was to don the pelt of a wolf, to psychically see through its non-existent eye holes, to gnash blood-smeared lips and howl to one’s brethren. To be one's animal was to be as taboo as possible in every way so as to distance oneself from the human detriments of responsibility and modesty. They knew the cliques beside them scoffed at them from time to time, but it mattered little because they were all united by the silver chord of community.
Above the noise and stink of the campground a silver figure had paused to watch and listen. Hearing enough, the figure bounded far away beneath the cold moonlight. There was more to learn under the stars, among the trees, through the snow, beside the brook, listening to the wind, watching the birds, being still, remaining silent.