“When the prison doors are open, the real dragon will fly out.” Ho Chi Minh
“The child you used to know is a dragon.” דָּנִיֵּאל
The questions I ask myself are many, perhaps you’d like some too, share if you will this seat right next to me looking down upon this tumultuous view. Perched above the world. Here upon rocks our butts growing colder, looking out on a human sea. Dare ask yourself with me, or unto yourself mutter, what is it we should be? Challenge your mind in triangulation, use a debate that’s not won easily. Twist yourself backwards in confabulation, stare straight ahead in obligation, but really it matters not to me. Go on and rest your head, backwards upon the cold slab that’s red, a granite unlike most, my wife tells me it’s garnet the stone of a ghost. Can you feel it sing, vibrating right through your seams, a choir of electromagnetic that screams?
Beware the ground so far below, think not of yourself, but how you should know, if you’re really free, sitting so high in eternity. Are you a beggar or a holy host, a victim of logic, or a trainer of ghost? For just between you and me, I’d rather an adventure, than to grow old grace free. For now, that you’re here beside me, I’ll tell you in short words what’s behind, what’s we. That slab of cold garnet’s that turning warm, upon it is keys of the future that’s born. Behind you and I is a dragon unloosed, crafted in heaven and hell so new. Turning inside and outside too, shaking your soul, to enter you. Call up the fears of all you see below, they cannot save your old life from the child you used to know.
The sun stands still so near in the sky, just like it did when the five kings died. Nothing worth ventured brings only still death, I can’t hold you up now, there’s no room on this ledge. The fire of the garnet has melted the sheath, of that, heavy garment that held such defeat. Everything calls out your new born name, that from above, is dragons wings. Somewhere somebody’s playing Black Sabbath in jest, probably those losers headed up here next. Doesn’t matter to us were too young to know. We’re turning inside and outside too, letting the dragon be born anew, and were laughing as we go, for nothing can save us from the child we used to know. That beautiful child we used to know!
The blood of a dragon it crests on your face, developing a map, charting toward Avalon, a far better place, that seat on that ledge, seems lost to you now, for your mapping heaven, the child that is you, knows not how, but now!
Dedicated to my Susan, (I Love you) who has unloosed the dragon in me. – 08.09.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל