By Ruth Addams
Gather ‘round children and I will tell you a story, a true story. I have a problem with rabbits. It stems from a childhood issue I won't go into here, but trust me; it's a deeply rooted issue. It is important to realize that I work for a Deity who doesn't hold well with issues, deeply rooted or otherwise. He likes to change things, mutate them inside you until they become strengths instead of weaknesses. “Solve et coagula”, that's Him all the way. He takes what has been broken and badly set, and breaks it again to let it heal cleanly.
Let's get back to the rabbits, shall we? He informed me that i was to make a blanket of rabbit pelts. I was to sew them together as if they were a pile of furs, not cut and arrange into a pretty patterns. It was important that they not lose their rabbit nature and merely become fashion. After my usual struggling to assert my right to not listen, I started buying rabbit pelts. Touching them made my heart race with fear, and the gorge rise in my throat as I fought to keep from vomiting. Little by little I sewed the first of them together. Pelt by pelt, never really getting easier to handle, they became a blanket. I suppose I should take a moment to mention here how He told me once that there was no comfort for me, it’s kind of important to the story.
Sometime after the blanket was large enough to mostly cover me, I was told I needed to find someone to beat me for Him. I was not to be allowed to enjoy this beating. After consideration of numerous people, and discussion with someone I trust on these things, He accepted the suggestion of one of my friends. I went to that friend to ask him if he would be willing to not only to beat me, but to do so for my Deity. He is a wonderful friend, and agreed to help me. It’s hard on me mentally when I am not allowed to enjoy a beating. If I am told I may not enjoy it, I can’t slip inside the beating, can’t feel the soaring joy of the sensation, only the dull thuds and sharp stings of it. My mind works that way, something that can be used against me, and has been. If I am told that the sweetest, gentlest brush of the lips against my flesh is not to be enjoyed, it will burn like fire.
The beating was done with skill, and I was greatly saddened to not be allowed to ride it. The beating had me shaking and partially unhinged on the ground. I am not sure what I said, but I still recall some of the things He was saying to me, as well as the things my friend was saying. My friend, you see, doesn’t just strike away wildly at the body before him, he talks. He is quite skilled at what he does, and while part of his skill is in the physical aspect, a good deal of it lies in his mind. As I was shivering on the ground, he spoke of how cold it was, and how I must long for warmth. He spoke of comfort, and asked if I wanted comfort. His words jumbled together into sound, and the only thing I heard and understood at that point was “Comfort”. I did exactly what I know I am not supposed to do, I grabbed for that shiny brass ring. “Yes” I told him, “yes, please.” Comfort, not a very large word, not a very difficult one, but one I will never learn to say no to. I admit to being a fool in this respect, as well as a few others. He moved away from me, quiet in the darkness of the night. “Here is your comfort”, he said as he draped the rabbit blanket over my quivering body. I thought my mind would snap at the touch of that fur, but the feelings inside me twisted and spun until they all fell on that same idea: comfort.
Today, the rabbit blanket not only no longer makes me twitchy, it is a source of comfort that I am allowed. Perhaps I am allowed this comfort because it was earned, I do not know, and it is not mine to speculate about such things too much. It warms me in the freezing air after a ball dance in the snow. It dries my tears at night when I cry alone in my bed. It provides warmth and the luxury of softness in the pile of hides I sleep in. It is my rabbit blanket, and I have earned it. And that, oh my children, is how my Deity works.