Neigh Sir, Nay!

I was ushered into what seemed to be a post-initiation chamber. The mood of the vaguely perceived crowd there gathered was revelatory, apparently excited that another one of their own had made it through to manhood. As my consciousness, seemingly unencumbered by gravity, descended toward the chamber's entrance, I noticed briefly that its material was probably tarpaulin, and it had symbolic representations that I could not interpret along each side of its tent-flap opening(I'd have to say they resembled primitive, stick-figure style drawings with decidedly sunny dispositions). As I entered the chamber/tent, a curious transformation occurred within my perspective from observer to participant, and without any cognitive dissonance, I was immersed in the experience as the closely-watched initiate became myself.

The inside of the structure was very plastic, both in motion and material. Maybe it was some contraption of innumerable hanging shower curtains, pulled billowingly inward by invisible hot water forces or through the dramatic efforts of the outside tribe. Maybe it was their version of a fair-time fun-house, or an oil-saturated, symbolic narrative of the womb. Regardless of the bizarre scenery, I could immediately recognize that vigilance and self defense were both necessary and expected.

I noticed another presence, distinctly different than the cheering tribe. It was hunting me. I could hear the cheers outside fade as my awareness honed on to this perceived threat. I swiveled around, just shy of panic, searching urgently for the psychic presence. Still vaguely aware of the outside throngs, I steeled myself into a warrior pose, and felt the push of pride to be regarded as a man amongst my tribe. Thus fortified, I faced the aggressive presence that seemed not to show itself, but to appear as disembodied force, emerging unpredictably from different corners and undulating folds of the inner chamber.

After a long battle which chafed against the linearity of time, I knew that I was victorious. Honestly, I have no recollection of any blows struck by what appeared to be some sort of blade I was holding. Although in fading acquaintance with the memory, it was still clear to me that I performed the dominating, martial ritual that would successfully prove my entrance into manhood.

~~~

Then, the setting inexplicably shifted to a club-like atmosphere, and I was upstairs, in a corner, near some tables with random revelers on the floor off in the distance. I seemed to know and identify with those around me, but as far as I could tell, I couldn't recognize any one specific person.

Below me, pinned to the floor by restraints, was the subject of my post-initiatory struggle. Whether, as I believed in battle, he originally was of a human or monster essence, it became more and more clear to me that this being was actually a horse. This horse, pinned down on his side, obviously terrified and almost defeated in spirit, was clearly supposed to be executed by me as the capstone of my initiation ritual.

As I looked down at the pitiable creature, my first couple blows came effortlessly, unconsciously motivated by the tribe's expectant force of encouragement. The blade I held bit into the horse's neck and opened his flesh to the bone, leaving a deep, red gash that strangely did not bleed. Upon the completion of the second blow came a more conscious response of disgust in my actions through empathetic feeling for the horse. I looked down into the eyes which were far too conscious to be merely animalian, and in fact, upon closer inspection, this curious incarnation of a horse seemed to vacillate between strictly equestrian and more ambiguous forms in rapid and almost imperceptible degrees. Knowing that among the celebratory group there was no hope of release or rehabilitation for this creature, I looked to one of the closer members of my/the tribe.

After a couple shouts over the noise, I got his attention. He was a big, gruff man; reminiscent of Mickey Rourke's character in the Sin City movie. Almost inhuman in his squareness and the grim, machine-like conditioning he possessed, I knew he'd be both best suited and most trustworthy for the responsibility I was going to attempt to pass.

After a wordless exchange of understanding, he took the blade from me and turned to the horse-like creature. My attention went to the crowd. Nobody was paying any attention to us in the corner, as the celebration itself was now the focus of everyone's energy. With the party fully unleashed, those in the club did not need to witness the solemn dispatching of their ritualistic victim.

Saddened by their disregard, I turned again to my gruff companion, who was raising the blade for the final, merciful blow. Then I awoke, sore from yesterday's yoga and feeling an empty mourning for an imaginary, shape-shifting horse.