Fizzly barn-owly-ness. :-/
I am the primary front of a multiple system which expanded fairly recently from three (including me) to twelve-most-of-the-time, so there's a craptonne of sorting out to be done on any given day or moment... but this is more a long-term persistent ambient sensation getting more and more acute and forward-present.
I've nearly always identified a daemon (animal-morphic personification of conscience or id+superego), currently eastern carpenter bee, and a totem (guiding/signalling entity that exists externally to me, but who occasionally intersects with my life), a horned owl. The daemon is always projected near or touching me, and usually just in my peripheral vision. Projecting him is intentional. His form is based on traits of my personality, the who-and-why of me, but not the what. The totem is never intentional or projected, it's just... there sometimes, and always off at a watchful, wary, wild-animal distance.
This is different. This is in my own skin and mind, extremely internal, but not so internal that headspace contains it the way it contains my headmates. It's a phantom sensation of wings, not on my back as for my seraph headmates Es and Lor, but on my arms, or associated vaguely with my legs as 'modus of transport and locomotion'. It's a phantom set of talons, sometimes on feet, sometimes on hands vaguely as 'modus of manipulation, grasping, force, and dexterity'. It's feeling the white mask of the moon on my face, a phantom skin of feathers that ruffle on any passing wind. It's an urge to tuck away myself into someplace warm, soft, dark, enclosed, safe, hidden, elevated, dry. It's feeling simultaneously delicate and powerful, drifting-floating and firmly supported and pressed onward by the earth underfoot. It's a virtually predatory awareness of live things around me. It's a silence and a stillness that is all about waiting, seeing unseen, listening unheard, patient and ready to pounce or stalk or chase from above, then glide-flap-up-away-perch again.
I've always had a fondness and fascination with birds, but I also always felt MUCH more... affiliated?... with diurnal birds of prey, especially peregrines and gyrfalcons... but that was admiration, fierce love, and this-
it's skin-deep, soul-deep, and so sudden in its rush to the surface that I'm still reeling a bit much.
The weird-maybe thing is, I don't feel dysphoric about the human body. I feel like, if anything, this body adds something to the owl, and gains something from the owl. It comes with its own kind of elevation off the ground, but it is not weakened or trapped when touching the ground. It, like the owl, craves shelter and usually gets it from pre-existing, man-crafted structures. It wants the warm-dry-soft-dark-safe-enclosed spaces. It has a white, round face with wide-set eyes. It has delicate, powerful, slender hands and long, strong legs with a snappy, deceptively slow stride that covers distance at alarming speed for the body's height.
The owl in me likes this shape, the way it is both high perch and the swiftness of wind and motion, and how it isn't helpless or fragile or subject to larger predators on our own territory.
It haaaates the poor night vision, but it can cope with that, all things considered.
It isn't bothered by this shape, though. It capitalizes on that... and I'm wondering if maybe that's why I've gone so long without really noticing the owl side of things. It's like tasting the inside of your own mouth: if it isn't unpleasant to you, you forget to notice it at all. Now, though, in the deep chill of winter setting in, when I step outside, I feel the urge to ruffle up my feathers and gather air against my body in warm pockets beneath the feathers, to tuck my face against my shoulder and turn a narrow side to the direction of the wind. This is a noticeable sensation, not unpleasant, but pronounced and present.
*wanders off to muse* -Asher