Reaching for perfection, he forgot he had gnawed off his arm. There was nothing there to extend, but a little blood and bone. Still he felt the need to catch the sun in the night. He burned himself over and over upon the fire, with legs to weak to notice what he had fell into--to weak to run, jump, gallop out of the flames that were to engulf his whole body. And, there was no sun to catch. His mind was lost. It was she, the transgender lady of the starts, that took him out of the fire, and retrieved his arm from his stomach. it was she, the mistress of water on earth that slapped him out of the hallucination induced by the horny white rabbit of mescal, playful love, and tender kisses. Unable to stay long, as her current pulled her back to the flow, she left him a shell, which he used to contemplate--meditate back into wholeness: reality. As the sun rose, his brothers began to bloom, and he rushed to be held once again in their garden. Still unable to fell his old-new arm, he reached for their embrace...
How do you think his peers responded?
They rejected him? Huh? because he didn't follow the rules, and he broke all of their trusts.
Not quite. Xochipilli was welcomed back, and was hugged so tightly, seed sprang forth to cover the earth. Still today, his friends and family, his brothers, embrace his body with radical tenderness: tattoos and vines."
---A story from the Glitter Shaman