Back when I was a teenager, I was into some cringy Mary Sue stuff. Looking back now, I know that there was a kernel of truth to it. I misinterpreted, but it's also reassuring to see how much I got right on a symbolic level. I used to channel my kin feelings into writing fiction because that was the only outlet I had for it at the time. Computers were just barely starting to be something that regular people might have in their homes, and only if they were geeky hobbyists. I didn't have one until later.
So, my main character was an anthro-hawk woman who was a bit untamed. Still, she carried a sword and dedicated herself to defending her city, with the adobe walls, close to a fertile river valley, on the edge of a desert. She would take side jobs hunting game for the local tavern, delivering packages, and raising some extra coins from fighting in the other tavern. Of course this Mary Sue had the most wonderful soulmate ever. I was obsessed with him.
The guy was an anthropomorphized sun spirit. He also carried a sword and defended the city. He literally glowed and could cook raw meat in the palm of his hand on a sunny day, not that he did that very often. He was also friendly and charismatic, unlike the hawk woman whose wild-like indifference often kept people at a distance. The problem was that he depended on the sun for his own survival. If he exhausted himself, he'd suffer through the cold dark night until the next morning. A fire could help keep him going.
Years later, in college I started writing another story, about an otherkin-type awakening happening in our world. The hawk lady could not even go outside because those wings were just too big to hide, so the guy took her in and watched over her. Except this time he was a vampire. He worked in a nightclub. He was still charismatic, but he was also sarcastic and snarky. He hunted the other "monsters" that were suddenly appearing around the city. Then one morning while trying to help the hawk woman escape, he got caught out in the sunlight and captured.
He didn't turn to ash, but he was severely burned. The people who captured him soon learned that his healing actually accelerated under a sun lamp. His body reconfigured itself into his sun aspect. He regained his sense of compassion, which was always there, just buried. Though he could still be a snarky asshole when he felt like it. In college, while I was writing this character, I did start to suspect that my "soulmate" really was another aspect of myself. (This was after the Horus vision, but I was ignoring the heck out of that back then.)
Just some wild ham-fisted fiction, right? Not exactly. I had been hanging out with the Thunder Being, playing astral cowboy for a time, defending my city and quite determined that the only monster allowed within my territory was me. I was still ignoring the hell out of Horus, though my actions proved that ignoring it didn't make it go away. Then Ra stepped in and decided he'd had enough of my denials. He scorched the crap out of my energy every morning for two and a half months. I was terrified that it would never end. Even as it burned, I craved more, like I had been starving for who knows how many years. The burn is all energy, but I also feel it as a physical sensation under my skin, first a build up of pressure and then something like heat followed by something like sunburn. (My studies in Tai Chi have taught me that there is a link between chi and the connective tissues in the body, so it probably does create something of a physical reaction in me.) Being burned by the sun until it rewired me to its liking was apparently a prophetic idea. My writing predicted that transformation years in advance.
I've been sensitive to those energies ever since, though the intensity varies from day to day. Some days I sleep through it. Some days it wakes me up and I ignore it and go back to sleep. Some days it's blissful and I find myself begging for more. Some days the pressure builds, and some days it burns. It's usually more intense when I've exhausted myself the day before. I suspect that the faster I pull it in, the hotter it feels. It's strongest in spring and summer. In fall it starts to have something like an unpleasant metallic taste to it as it slowly diminishes. In winter, I just sort of drag myself along. I can usually detect the first hopeful hints of spring before the temperature starts to warm.
I insist, with a snarl in my voice, that I am not a vampire. It's possible I "doth protest too much." The psi vampires would put me in the elemental category because of my dependence on solar energy. And it is true that I have to watch myself in winter because I am capable of taking energy from other sources, and might do so accidentally. A few weeks ago someone wandered by and mentioned the Aset Ka, and I snarled then too. Putting Kemeticism and vampirism together? That feels like summoning and celebrating the diminished form, an aberration. There may be some kernel of truth, but it seems to ignore that the great big flaming ball in the sky is the true source of immortality and power. Toss those Anne Rice books out the window already. Egypt was not about death. It was about a life force so strong that it defies death, and you didn't have to steal it, just embrace it. Ride on the solar barque and risk the sun's heat to become a Shining One if the Field of Reeds isn't good enough for you.
Is this another territorial reaction of "no monsters here but me?" Maybe a resentment of how close to the line I'm already sitting? Maybe annoyance at people who confuse desperation with power. Maybe recognition that my own energy state is variable enough that I don't take it for granted, and I'd be majorly pissed at anyone who disrupted it without my consent. The consent thing is a big issue. I don't tend to snarl at people who respect that line, and I've been a willing energy donor myself a few times when I've had extra to spare. Lots of mixed feelings on the subject.
But yeah, that "soulmate" guy was part of me all along.