"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

04 August 2011

Broken Dragon

I was nineteen and in a metaphysical shoppe. The cat who was with me was neither remotely Pagan or a bruja by any means. I wouldn't have even gone as far as to call him by the titles adolescent males would sometimes go by when dabbling in non-Judeo-Christian esoterica such as warlock, wizard, or sorcerer. His father was into the whole New Age thing, so perhaps crystal waver or curio out for some metaphysical slumming might have been good descriptions. It's so long ago now, I can no longer tell.

Perhaps he was seeking answers and enlightenment in that shoppe that smelled of incense and sage, where multiple crystals reflected the warm summer sunlight in multiple ways. I think I came along out of something to do. It was quite by accident that the dragon ring caught my eye.

I tried it on my left ring finer, and it coiled along it quite nicely. Like it belonged there. It was reasonably priced, so I bought it without much thought.

"It likes you," the cat who was with me said, and I resisted the urge to slap him for that set of words.

"Maybe there's some power to it, neh?" I said as more of a joke than anything else.

There was a girl or two that tried to get the dragon ring from me, thinking it might look pleasing on their finger instead. This would get them an eloquent decline sponsored by the letter fuck. But, hypocritically, when I was twenty, I ended up giving the dragon ring to my x-wife, as more of a joke than anything.

Two years later, when we were splitting up, I asked for the dragon ring back. It seemed reasonable. She told she had lost it. I accepted this turn of how the story goes with a growl.

Two years after that, I was picking up my daughter for a visit at her other grandparent's house. My x-mother-in-law handed me the dragon ring, stating my x-wife knew I liked it and wanted it back. I was younger and full of hate at the time and contemplated throwing it away or at least burying it, as to get rid of any bad mojo. My daughter tugged at my arm as she saw me looking at it.

"I found that in the bushes behind the house and it made me think of you," she said, and that said it all.

So, I put the dragon ring back on, but on my right ring finger this time, and it coiled along it quite nicely. Like it belonged there. I joked to myself it was like I was a metaphysical widower, but I wasn't rightly widowed from anything other than an idea. From that point on, when someone would notice the dragon ring, I would tell the story with the point that my daughter gave me the ring back. I would say if one wanted to get it off of me, they would have to cut off my finger.

The jewel-eyed girl could never see past the aspect that my x-wife wore it. She would make sly suggestions of me removing it, and I would growl at her, bringing up the aspect she refused to see; my daughter. Looking back, it is not surprising we did not make it as a couple.

About two years ago, I was reclined on the couch, reading a book and enjoying a glass of wine as the evening wound down. We had enjoyed quite an adventurous walkabout that day, which included me doing a fair amount of scrabbling. Sabina was at the 'puter, seeking entertainments across the spider's web, occasionally reading me something or showing me an interesting or amusing image. At one point, I had occasion to look down at my right hand, at the dragon ring. There was a clean break along band. Strange luck and habit had kept it on my finger.

"Well, would you look at that," I said to her, showing her what happened. "A broken dragon."

"I know what it means to you. Maybe you can still wear it somehow," Sabina said, showing me one of her rings with a fracture along the band.

"No," I said, and pulled the dragon ring from finger, placing it on the altar. "It's time."

And that is where it now sits. My right ring finger feels no less naked because of it even though I wore it for seventeen years. Seventeen years to have a trinket is somewhat impressive, I suppose, and that one has borne witness to adventures, secrets and stories. I remember that joke I made in the metaphysical shoppe about the dragon ring at nineteen years old and realize the power it possesses is not just what it has witnessed whilst riding coiling upon my fingers, but the story behind it.


  1. That was beautiful. A long, long time ago, I spent a day purging myself of any items with "bad mojo" connected to them. Letting go of a thing can be so refreshing.

  2. Thank you. One of the most things ever said to me was during the period when my x-wife and I were splitting up, when a friend said unto me on an afternoon of particular zen-excellence;

    "It's a good day to let go."

    True words...

  3. Oh, this caught me and pulled me in, almost without me realising - but perhaps that's another power of the dragon ring? Great story.