My Dragon House

I had to find a place to build my dragon house so that when my dragon finally appeared he’d have a warm place to sleep and take his meals. Standing in the back of a gas station at four in the morning, I was ready to stop the search.

I’d been to a number of perfectly good fields out in the country, but they all seemed too lovely and full of themselves. My dragon would quickly tire of this kind of tedious beauty. I took a trip to a book store, a used book store, and thought I might make a little space between Bukowski and Burroughs, surely he’d like that, but the store owner was a dry and smug man with curly gray haired knuckles and a black spot floating on the pale blue of his left iris. He called me “Dear”. THAT certainly wouldn’t do, my dragon might fall for him and eat him up before he’d even laid eyes on me. Plus, dragons like to come and go. A shop that opened and closed at certain times would be much too confining.

I considered giving up my own bed for his prickly iridescent head, but chose the back of the gas station instead.

This was a perfect place for a dragon hut. Beauty was well hidden here, and there were stars at night. The homey odor of petrol reminded me of an airport and thus traveling. That was good: settle in and think of travel.

A wide array of life had ensconced itself all around the gas station yard. Strange plants from other planets forced themselves through the pavement cracks, and some kind of poisonous berry bush was reaching through a rusty chain link fence, trying to get to the gas station bathroom, I supposed, those berry’s looked full.

A large flaking tank probably holding some kind of sludge kept guard. We spied each other suspiciously for all of nine minutes before I garnered the courage to tap its metal painted side in polite inquiry. Listening for the answer within, what returned was more of a nod than a yes and with the sleep-filled moon over my left shoulder, I knew I’d found my dragon house.

Location and body down, next step was to mark the area and “house” so my spiked friend would know where to go. First I scratched a circle in the paint with my fingernail. Next, I gathered rough gravel and soon-to-be-sacred tiny stones, and made a pile at the base of the leg of the barrel, closest to the fence corner. This was to be the door through which my dragon’s dreams would pass and, from there, would travel the world and then the universe and then beyond, to the All. The dirt and oil drippings were perfect fodder to smooth the way for heavy dragon dreams and ensured the power would remain strong by way of tininess. Tininess was key.

I was in a trance -like state when I put my 75-year-old forehead to the belly of the new dragon house. It was then I attempted communication with my dragon, but there was nothing but an empty feather answer. I was too anxious, acting foolish. From trance I nearly passed to sleep, but an enormous 18 wheeling truck monster broke the spell without seeing me. I thanked the truck’s candor and hid, stretched under the barrel while the driver fed his rig and pissed on the much pissed upon wall of the station. As I lay, I counted to 147 and then asked the starling guide to take some of my hair into its nest. This was to ensure my message of invitation and readiness was on it‘s way. Then I fell asleep.

From under the oil barrel, I dreampt of a large pool of lemon juice sunning itself under sage-colored, paper-leaved trees filled with angry blue jays. The lemon juice was filled to the very edge of the green tile-lined pool and quite oblivious to the electric sounds of the birds. They were fit to be tied about a cat who lived in a dirty white bucket nearby and who fancied himself to be king of the pool.

In the dream, the blue jays knew the juice had no ruler, having tried for centuries to control and use it’s tart essence. The lunatic cat laughed at them as he paraded around and around the pool. He wore a crude crown of Christmas lights, unlit, and carried an umbrella made of a branch from a birch tree and an old garbage can lid. The plug of the Christmas tree lights hung down from his head and he twirled them tauntingly.

All of a sudden, a blanket of snow floated down and covered the lemon juice pool, freezing it solid. The lunatic cat froze, as well, in fear. As the crickets clicked away the minutes, the blue jays fought amongst themselves. Could the snow blanket be a sign that a new king was needed? Was the pool of juice trying to tell them something (like, chill out)? NO! said an elder jay, the sign is that the juice cannot be ruled, just as we have come to understand after years of struggle. We must fluff our feathers and stay close together for warmth. One blue jay thought maybe the cat was a witch and had conjured the snow blanket as a ruse, to force them out. After much deliberation, it was decided that the crazy cat should be killed as he stood frozen in his tracks, lights in mid twirl. An enormous cloud of blue feathers swallowed the cat (as well as some brave crickets). The snow blanket melted into the pool thus diluting the juice to a messy, overflowing lemonade. Lunatic cat screamed this before he was murdered:

“The road is a bracelet! Blessed be the diamond door! Travel on!!!”

I awoke to a normal city workday morning. People were buying cigarettes and newspapers and gas. I crawled out from under the belly of my dragon house and shook the dust off of my back and out of my hair. The message was clear. Dragon was on his way and had work for me. It was not to be easy and I was destined to be confused for as long as I would be his servant.

I prayed to the morning for a quick jab of stamina and quickly walked home to wait.