Confessions of an Unconscious Witchling
Young, Autistic and completely unconscious... the beginning of the path,
It was a strange and thorny path, but it had chosen me. Nothing had ever chosen me before. It felt good to be singled out as special. It felt good to be considered worthy of something: even pain. By the time I was twenty-three, it was all I really believed in. It was the only possibility for redemption I could see. And it saw me, too.
It was a special dimension of learning, a school of knowledge guarded by teachers made with old earth, ancient rain, and the first fires of men. They passed down its passwords from one generation to the next. You would not know them on the street, at the grocery store or the dry cleaners, unless you were attuned to your own shadow, unless the darkness in your own spirit reached toward them standing in a line at the checkout. And the agents of these secrets, they will feel you too, and when they turn their burning gaze upon you it is cold, like fear.
When I was twenty-three, I met such a man in the most unlikely of places: an S & M club. It might not seem so unlikely to the uninitiated, but such places are filled with people who are filled with confusion. They don’t know the meaning of what they are doing. It doesn’t grow them. It doesn’t deepen them. It distracts them. They do not know how to use the blood of their wounds. They are blinded by the basest of animal want. They do not know what they are. They lack the most basic understanding of their own experiences. That’s why I was there.
You must understand that this was not a place I’d normally be. I preferred to keep my search to be conquered whispered to strangers over the phone, or tapped out in poetic code, but never sloppily and nakedly displayed in public amongst piles of flesh wrapped in leather. Not unless I was the conqueror. Not unless I was the one who slashed open someone else’s vulnerabilities, and even then, I did it only because I could. Never because I desired it.
There was no place for me in the world from which I had come. Trying to fit there segmented my consciousness. Trying to leave there shattered me. When I met him I was shards of broken glass. No one knew what I was. Not even me. Not even the Goddess.
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