I have always been fascinated by the concept of the spirit animal. I enjoyed reading about the Patronus Charm in the Harry Potter universe. Each person with magical blood in Rowling’s fantasy book series could learn to conjure up a magical shield against the “Dementors” – great, dark, ghastly creatures who gaurd the wizard prison and will, left unsupervised, try to suck out your soul through your mouth and leave you lifeless, “like an empty shell.” Casting this protective charm was accomplished by attempting to “think of a happy memory” – drawing on the echoes of a time when one had felt particularly safe, content, loved, or at peace. The strength of this memory was meant to be enough to protect the enchanter from a looming sense of dread, foreboding, or even terror – the physical and emotional symptoms of which, as described in the books, are strikingly similar to my own experience of severe and debilitating panic attacks, or the seasonal discouragement and bleak spirals of rumination and pareidolia which usually affect me the most during the Dark Months – November to March. These symptoms are usually at their ugliest in the middle of January, but will occasionally drop by in the summer to say hello. Sometimes it is still very hard to get out of bed and brush my teeth; I am so much stronger than I used to be, and I am so greatful that I am still here.

As a young witch or wizard learned how to cast this protective enchantment, their Patronus would initially appear as a shield of white light. But as their proficiency with the spell grew stronger, their Patronus would start to take the form of a specific animal – usually one which made sense for their personality, and was sometimes connected to their family heritage. The protagonist of the books, for whom the series is named, had the same exact Patronus as his father – and James Potter was killed when Harry was so young that Harry doesn’t remember his father much at all.

I used to wonder which kind of animal my Patronus would become, how it would manifest. As for the happy memories – those aren’t really for the internet, I think.

In Dungeons & Dragons and things of that ilk, my preferred character class has always been the shape-shifting, nature loving Druid. There’s this one particular youngster (gender neutral term) I know who works at a my alma mater’s 3D printing lab – she took one look at me the first time we discussed role-playing games and nodded her head in a self-assured and knowing way and she said, “something tells me you play Druid, don’t you?” and she was right. The internal world-building logic of some of these games suggests a growing capacity for shape-shifting as ones character becomes more powerful or experienced. First one can transform into a bird or a wolf, then they have the additional options of becoming a cobra or a bear – the ability to become some kind of dragon at will is the crowning achievement. I love this because one isn’t confined to a single kind of creature. We’ve got options, range. This feels nice.

I still have yet to play a character until they can become a dragon.

In Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy – you may have heard of the Golden Compass – there’s a universe in which each adult’s soul manifests as another living creature whose traits, like the Patronus, aligns with their specific character. A meek but cozy person’s daemon might be a mouse, a cunning person’s daemon might be a raven – like that. When a person is still a child, their daemon can shape shift from one creature to the next depending on their mood – as they get older, their daemons settle into a permanent form.

Lyra’s daemon – “Pantalaimon,” or Pan – first appears as a dark brown moth, but in the third book – after Lyra’s first actual proper kiss, I think – Pan settles as a pine marten.

I don’t have a daemon – if I did, I’m not sure what she’d be called or what form she would take.

I am still curious.