You’ll often times hear me wax philosophical on matters such as spirit animals, soul-surfing, and spirit’s touch. Then, if I’ve been drinking, I’ll likely dismiss the whole affair as a lot of neo-pagan and hippie horseshit. But the fact remains that I cannot deny is here in Vancouver we have a pretty strong connection to nature. Even if you live way up in the top of a glass and concrete tower in Coal Harbour, you will find your gaze straying to Stanley Park, the Lions, or the ocean. Even if you eschew nature, yet still live in Vancouver, you find the draw of the landscape a draw. To outright say that nature and her beauty here doesn’t have a a draw is hooey.
But here, during autumn seasons, when the trees do their own shifting and striptease out of their leaves after turning multiple colours (well played trees, well played) there is something… palatable about wanting a physical change as well. As the days shorten and the evenings come earlier and earlier, to most it means hunkering down, going into a pseudo-hybernation as we delve into winter. But during the wan light of a evening run on the seawall, I couldn’t help but notice the play of light in the shallows of the water…
… and it’s possible I got a little bit hypnotized. But I wanted to shed my clothes and slip down into the water, and feel the gills on my neck frill and pump water, the skin between my fingers grow and stretch… to cut through the water of False Creek with the last rays of sun catching glints off my scales as I dive with seals and tap the underside of aqua buses…
While standing on the Granville Bridge, the wind whipping my hair around, I looked down and the seawall path I’d been running alongside and felt invisible wings stretch and flex, my claws grew into long talons, and in my mind, a running leap off the bridge, skimming down over the water, gliding down, past the West End and deep into Stanley Park. Flexing and pumping my wings to carry my up over the wind currents to rest on top of the roof of the Hotel Vancouver among the gargoyle and peer down and the traffic along Georgia Street.
With mention of Stanley Park comes mention of my final shape shift fancy… to watch the cold moon hang in the sky and shake off human skin. To shed soft pale skin for darker, harder structure. Colours that will help conceal me in forests and long talons to scale trees, dig in dirt. Humanoid yet inhuman, alone and still surrounded by people, deep in the forest, in an urban setting. It entirely possible there are legions of these people who feel the same way come autumn.
But I can’t become a mermaid, a dragon or alien outside of my own skull. So in order to physically shape shift I’m doing the next best thing: consistent body modification through waist training and corsetry and training with Jonathan Webster (aka Slave Master J) to gain more physical strength to match my reverie of the fantastic. I’m not sure what my final form will ultimately be, and only time will tell. But I can tell you one thing about this metamorphosis: It’s coming. It’s slow. But as the seasons shift, so will I.
Little Miss Risk