1.
Upon an early summer Saturday evening,
I found myself drawn into a magickal ritual working of Celtic/Chinese descent.
Its’ overtones that of classical Victorian era mages, yet eclectic in its’
chemistry and machinations. Through the aroma of frankincense and the bouquet a delicious
merlot, I invoked the ancient ones at the compass points. Sword flailing in an
adagio, flickering light from the candles, refracting its beams in the black
mirror I had previously adorned with the proper occult insignias. I uttered
their names in the voice that comes from somewhere within, I know not where,
when I perform such acts of magick.
I plunged the tip of my sword into the menses of the chalice and evoked out loud in an unbrushed tirade of Latin. Calling upon the dragons to show me the way of strength through this passage of my life. Communicators, I am to understand, they were back then although no longer active on this earth. Their wars long since fought, both within and without they have since cast themselves to the next reality. But they remain in touch with us, should we desire or need the council of these warriors of whom much has been misunderstood and a deep brotherhood remains to be consummated between us and them.
This shall remain so until the concept
of ‘us versus them’ shatters and dematerializes from our field of vision.
He introduced himself, after a bit of
coaxing, as Franken. A dragon of obvious proportion, fortitude and will. Like
the others, he was a target to chastise for possession of passion and courage.
To question, to dare to work his magick for the peace of the planet. To dispel
with fire those who would deviate from the essence of our mutual creation.
He displayed to me his ability to spin
like a cyclone, to breathe fire as if it were air. To spread his concealed
wings at the last possible moment and ascend into space, much to the
confounding of their opposers. His grace in the water, his heart of forged
steel containing the poet he never came to be in his thousand years upon man’s
earth. Flailing above lances and torches and below the understanding of God
that created him, he hovered. Wings like a bumblebee. Heart of an impassioned
warrior. Rough-hewn diamond version of a holy lamb. He called out to me from
his next life. Just as I called out to him from the previous incarnation of
mine. The need for a friend transcends all space, time and continuity. Amongst
the aethyrs, we found each other. His name is Franken. I am hereby gladly
charged to tell his story.
2.
We were forced into war because of
their jealousy. Because of our physical size and their desire to reign supreme.
We were the cave dwellers, working our spells and foraging the wild gardens.
They called us enemy and drew their swords. We spread our wings and gasped for
breath at their warfare. Disastrous ancestral bile met with life giving oxygen
culminating in vomitous flames upon their battalions.
Thus the battle ensued.
We took to the sky and they to their
churches regaling with warnings of we the blasphemous spawn. They evoked their
perverted vision of the Christeos to justify their rebellion of us they chose
not to understand.
It became so that we drew our flames
against their swords to persevere in an effort for our survival. For our
children and ancestry. Forming DNA spirals while copulating with our loved
ones, populating the underworld with dragons of peace and fortitude. Preservers
of the planet's equilibrium. Iron fisted against the adversary's evil decree to
overturn apple carts and dismember logic that welds harmonious unction to the
tree of life.
But it was not to be so. the chosen
ones wanted war. To prove their brutality was less than their equanimity. To
prove their superiority above the elemental. To prove to no one but themselves
they were the highest. What transpired
between the initial battle cry and the day we laid our heads down to weep
before the last gasp and transcend into the absolute left God aghast and we
were absorbed into lifeless fairy tales.
3.
When his sword tip perpetrated the
first tissue layers of my heart, I felt angry that his tenacity superseded
mine. Then I realized, as the edges plunged further unraveling my demise, that
this episode could never have been revealed otherwise. The small and oppressed
vanquishing their acquired oppressor.
It is what they needed at that point in
their history to further mankind's evolution. I pray that since our deaths and
assumption into the hereafter that these beasts known as men have aspired and
achieved an understanding of mortality and eternity.
By slaughtering and killing us, may
they soon find a portal to inoculate their idiocy from contaminating future
generations of their species. For as afflicted as we were by their unjustified
demonization do I fear they have run out of dragons and sea monsters,
poltergeists and satans to vilify for the ills of mankind. Now they crucify
each other,
politics versus religion,homosexuals versus pragmatists,
vegans versus heretics,
anyone versus everyone else,
who hungers for reconciliation
but settles instead
for pointless
endless
stupid
war.
Although we have ascended
and are remembered only in zoosby Kimodos
and blue tailed skinks
emerald pythons
and albino cobras
we live still
at the heart of your spine
and the root between your eyebrows
in an equilibrium
manifesting metamorphosis
from your archaic tribal
primal
circular
pissings
to a reality
we know you can be
once you have run the course
of casting each other
as martyrs and hellions
dispensing justice
as your dim eyes see fit
finally castrating your blindness
guiding your clueless canoe
to the eternal ocean
from the tumultuous river
that flows
somewhere
between chaos and zen.
May it be so. It is so.
All my love,
Max
