Wednesday, September 15, 2010
the soul of a windmill
The ancient serpent adjusted his bulk on the rocky cave floor, wincing as a broken sword fragment shifted in the tender flesh beneath his scale armor. The dragon's hard scales scraped across the equally hard floor, leaving a thin trail of blood and rancid water as he searched for a more comfortable position. Looking out, beyond the fierce waves crashing against his stony home, he muttered a prayer into the wind - a wish that the mettle of all valiant knights had finally been tested. Head sinking onto the hard gravel floor, and with a heavy sigh, the battle-weary dragon first slipped into an uneasy slumber.
Briefly, somewhere between the first and the second, the gravel softened and yielded under the weight of his tired body. The sound of the ocean waves came closer and closer to his sleeping form. As the wave's watery form crashed against the sleeping dragon, he could see the virtuous faces belonging to each of his opponents reflecting off his wet, glistening armor. The dragon became each opponent in turn -- experiencing the searing pain of a serpent's fiery breath tearing at exposed flesh, tasting the swallowed fear of likely death.
Gradually, the dragon's body stopped resisting the waves, they poured into and through his tired flesh. The dragon's pain and weariness dissolved in the salty water and washed from his armored body. At peace, he fell into a very deep sleep - that sleep which is a gift of all creatures. The waves brought deeper and deeper revelations, each carrying the dragon closer to understanding. He became smaller and smaller beneath an infinitely great purpose. He saw all that is, all that was, and all that might ever be.