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juushikaI've been exploring my therianthropy more since last posting about it—but the slow work introspection and exploration is rarely worth writing about. Rarely, but not always: I've realized an interesting disconnect in the thought processes of my self-as-human and self-as-cat. (I say "self as human" and "self as cat" not because the two are separate, but because they are sometimes different—and labeling those differences makes them easier to discuss.)
My human brain is prone to panic, mood disorders like depression, and obsessive thought. My brain just never shuts off, and it is usually filled by a pair of mental voices prattling on—in circles of anxious worry, or just in circles of stuck song lyrics or mundane thoughts; worrying over doubts and problems, or just comments on what I'm observing or even thinking. (If I'm trying to concentrate on something, one mental voice often focuses upon the thoughts and concentration issues of the other.) My busy brain is the result of my mental health issues, my personality, and my practiced habits. It's very human—unlike non-human animals, humans actively consider the past and prepare for the future, which opens the doors to regret and anxiety, as well as obsessive thought.
The animal brain—for me, the cat brain—isn't like that. Animals can learn from past experience, and that learning shapes their future responses, but they live in the moment. They can feel sad or scared, they may be nonsocial or shy, but they don't worry about embarrassing themselves, or fear the future, or wake up in the middle of the night from obsessive thoughts. Holland gets many things wrong about the animal brain (he doesn't recognize a difference between dominance, territorial, and attack behaviors; his predator prefers to prey on and eat other predators, primarily humans; his wolf-like creation is primarily antisocial), but I identified greatly with his protagonist's transformation from human to animal:
My self-as-cat is a life lived in the moment, without doubt or confusion or anxiety or fear. It's a welcome, healthier, happier change from the way my human brain works. Someone in the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
therianthoughts community recommended a house cat hypnotism file (LRHousecat—it requires registration to download, but it's free), and though I was skeptical I actually had a great experience with it. It allowed me to fall into headspace (and loosely imagined dreamworld) where I could just be myself as a cat, lying down because I wanted to, walking because I wanted to, hunting because I was hungry*, without thinking about each action—and future action and past action—as I did it. It was a wonderful and truly enjoyable experience.
* Why did I hunt in cat brain space? I'm a vegetarian, and I've said before that—despite my feline nature, perhaps as evidence of my domesticity—I have no hunt instinct. I don't know if it was a sign of a previously unacknowledged hunt instinct, or simply a result of the recording—because it influenced my cat identity at the time, or just because I was hungry and there was no food dish in that mental playground. I'm not too concerned about it—many cats hunt and it didn't gross me out (why would it? regardless of my human choices, I'd be eating meat if I had a cat body). It was interesting, though, especially as it's not an activity I'd imagine in my ideal fantasy world.
Falling deeper into myself-as-cat and experiencing life in the moment, however, definitely highlighted the disconnect between the my self-as-cat and self-as-human. When I tried to use the tape a second time I had many difficulties—in part because I was able to go through the "transformation" swifter than the directions, and so they kept pulling me out of headspace, but also because I wasn't able to quiet my thoughts. My human brain is busy and noisy, anxious and anticipatory. In order to better embrace my cat brain, I have to move beyond all that turbulence and noise.
Which is a way of saying that: In order to be myself, I have to move beyond myself. That doesn't mean that my self-as-cat isn't a part of me. It is not a separate identity. But there is a disconnect between that aspect of my identity and the one that I inhabit as a result of my biological body and a good chunk of my nature, or identity, or self. It also means, though, that by investigating and embracing my feline identity, I also learn ways to quiet and move beyond the turbulence of my human identity. That's a good thing—I need to learn more coping mechanisms, ways to return to the moment, means of quieting my thoughts.
I've definitely moved beyond the avid fascination I had when discovering the therian community, and I've moved on to introspection and thought and even hypnotism recordings. It's a good change, building personal awareness and making some good headway—both in knowing myself, and improving myself overall, human and animal.
Slightly tangential, I did have an interesting experience with the recording: when told my black claws were forming, I saw them as white. I'm incredibly hesitant to assign physical characteristics to my cat self—I think that it's primarily my self-as-human which cares about appearances, and most of my "gut instincts" are probably just projections. But white claws is concrete and a bit more reliable. It's an interesting tidbit, and worth remembering at least.
Quite tangential: In other, unrelated, cat news: This video (discovered via![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
devilwrites) about the Cat House on the Kings impressed and awed me. I have great respect for the lady that runs this shelter, and the shelter itself is a heaven on earth—my self-as-human would love to cuddle and simply stand among all of those cats, and my self-as-cat ... well, I think my ideal is a small domestic family unit, but I would still love to live that life of safety and freedom and protection.
Oh, just watch it.
My human brain is prone to panic, mood disorders like depression, and obsessive thought. My brain just never shuts off, and it is usually filled by a pair of mental voices prattling on—in circles of anxious worry, or just in circles of stuck song lyrics or mundane thoughts; worrying over doubts and problems, or just comments on what I'm observing or even thinking. (If I'm trying to concentrate on something, one mental voice often focuses upon the thoughts and concentration issues of the other.) My busy brain is the result of my mental health issues, my personality, and my practiced habits. It's very human—unlike non-human animals, humans actively consider the past and prepare for the future, which opens the doors to regret and anxiety, as well as obsessive thought.
The animal brain—for me, the cat brain—isn't like that. Animals can learn from past experience, and that learning shapes their future responses, but they live in the moment. They can feel sad or scared, they may be nonsocial or shy, but they don't worry about embarrassing themselves, or fear the future, or wake up in the middle of the night from obsessive thoughts. Holland gets many things wrong about the animal brain (he doesn't recognize a difference between dominance, territorial, and attack behaviors; his predator prefers to prey on and eat other predators, primarily humans; his wolf-like creation is primarily antisocial), but I identified greatly with his protagonist's transformation from human to animal:
When I felt the first stirrings within me of the metamorphosis, the warmth that grew inside and signaled the change about to occur, I felt the same rush of happiness that one experiences when spying a dear friend after a lengthy separation. All of my concerns, all of my worries and fears vanished as I became the physical manifestation of my innermost nature, the animal I know I am. No doubts or riddles plague me in this form. All seems marvelously clear, like the night vision that allows me to perceive the impenetrable soul of darkness and see what, in my other shape, is only blackness and confusion.
—Murcheston: The Wolf's Tale [book review], David Holland (195)
My self-as-cat is a life lived in the moment, without doubt or confusion or anxiety or fear. It's a welcome, healthier, happier change from the way my human brain works. Someone in the
therianthoughts community recommended a house cat hypnotism file (LRHousecat—it requires registration to download, but it's free), and though I was skeptical I actually had a great experience with it. It allowed me to fall into headspace (and loosely imagined dreamworld) where I could just be myself as a cat, lying down because I wanted to, walking because I wanted to, hunting because I was hungry*, without thinking about each action—and future action and past action—as I did it. It was a wonderful and truly enjoyable experience.* Why did I hunt in cat brain space? I'm a vegetarian, and I've said before that—despite my feline nature, perhaps as evidence of my domesticity—I have no hunt instinct. I don't know if it was a sign of a previously unacknowledged hunt instinct, or simply a result of the recording—because it influenced my cat identity at the time, or just because I was hungry and there was no food dish in that mental playground. I'm not too concerned about it—many cats hunt and it didn't gross me out (why would it? regardless of my human choices, I'd be eating meat if I had a cat body). It was interesting, though, especially as it's not an activity I'd imagine in my ideal fantasy world.
Falling deeper into myself-as-cat and experiencing life in the moment, however, definitely highlighted the disconnect between the my self-as-cat and self-as-human. When I tried to use the tape a second time I had many difficulties—in part because I was able to go through the "transformation" swifter than the directions, and so they kept pulling me out of headspace, but also because I wasn't able to quiet my thoughts. My human brain is busy and noisy, anxious and anticipatory. In order to better embrace my cat brain, I have to move beyond all that turbulence and noise.
Which is a way of saying that: In order to be myself, I have to move beyond myself. That doesn't mean that my self-as-cat isn't a part of me. It is not a separate identity. But there is a disconnect between that aspect of my identity and the one that I inhabit as a result of my biological body and a good chunk of my nature, or identity, or self. It also means, though, that by investigating and embracing my feline identity, I also learn ways to quiet and move beyond the turbulence of my human identity. That's a good thing—I need to learn more coping mechanisms, ways to return to the moment, means of quieting my thoughts.
I've definitely moved beyond the avid fascination I had when discovering the therian community, and I've moved on to introspection and thought and even hypnotism recordings. It's a good change, building personal awareness and making some good headway—both in knowing myself, and improving myself overall, human and animal.
Slightly tangential, I did have an interesting experience with the recording: when told my black claws were forming, I saw them as white. I'm incredibly hesitant to assign physical characteristics to my cat self—I think that it's primarily my self-as-human which cares about appearances, and most of my "gut instincts" are probably just projections. But white claws is concrete and a bit more reliable. It's an interesting tidbit, and worth remembering at least.
Quite tangential: In other, unrelated, cat news: This video (discovered via
devilwrites) about the Cat House on the Kings impressed and awed me. I have great respect for the lady that runs this shelter, and the shelter itself is a heaven on earth—my self-as-human would love to cuddle and simply stand among all of those cats, and my self-as-cat ... well, I think my ideal is a small domestic family unit, but I would still love to live that life of safety and freedom and protection.Oh, just watch it.
