This week has been long. I’m tired. Soul deep tired.
Last weekend saw the culmination of the healing activity alluded to in the previous post, and I’ve been paying a heavy price since. So much so, that even now I haven’t found the energy to find the words to discuss the event with the client.
Dragon myths abound throughout the world. I’ve never had any doubt that such commonality of myth can only point in one direction: a deep running vein within the collective consciousness, hinting at a truth which can only be expressed through archetype.
Such archetypes tend to find their realisation in one of the various other-worlds that we dip into occasionally, and it is, perhaps, through these brief interactions that the myth develops, taking on various forms and meanings, defined in part by group and social experience at the location where the specific retelling of the legend emerges.
At some level, we are all potential knights, hoping for the opportunity to arise for our moment of victory over the dragon; or we are maidens, hoping that when the dragon appears there will be a knight, not far off, willing to risk all, ride in and save us.
Thus, in the wee small hours of Sunday morning, without a clue as to what was about to unfold, I lazily flew in a generally westerly direction with Crow. The “water demon” had come this way, and had this way returned. Water demon?!? Apparently so.
Luckily, Crow’s ego made sending him off, ostensibly to watch over the sleeping client, rather easy, and I continued to head towards the increasing darkness of the pre-dawn western sky. His assertion that I was looking for a “water demon” just didn’t make any sense. The only clue that I had, was a mental impression of something which looked like a Chrysalis; green with blue flecks against a deeper blue background, persistent, beacon like, through a slow rising mist.
Without warning, it appeared. Not a Chrysalis, but a large island in a great lake which, when approached from the east, took the shape of an inert pupa.
Descending towards the island, I found myself surrounded by four, large, fluffy clouds. Within each appeared the face of a venerable chief; each taking the station appropriate to the colour of his roach. Confusion doubled, when each cloud took the form of the archangel associated with that particular direction in the Western Tradition. In that moment, I forgot how to fly…
Alighting a rock, all hell broke loose and I fell into an inky darkness. A maelstrom of teeth, scales, tail; dragged into a whirlpool of black. Cold. Copper. Green.
So much red.
My broken, bleeding body was carried aloft, wrapped in a brilliant blue cloak belonging, I suspect, to Michael who, I further suspect, had much more to do with the successful despatching of the beast than any of my desperate chants, thrusts, and random blasts of energy.
Hopefully the client will, by now, be feeling some benefit, having been freed from the unwelcome attentions of the creature which now lay the bottom of the lake. No rogue, but rather, like that depicted in Uccello’s painting, on a leash and at the command of a lady who had managed to ensnare him. The tears which stung my face on leaving trance, were as much for the dragon than they were for my own, torn, astral self.
It will probably be a while before I can risk travelling the worlds again: spiritually exhausted, bruised and battered, doesn’t make for positive experiences in the lower realms!
For those knights, desperately seeking out a dragon to quell… take my word for it, as an experience, it’s highy over-rated…