Summer Delight

Sweet October

Waking up the Dragon

Waking Up the Dragon

“This is your medicine,” she said, her blue eyes gazing into mine. “Remember.” The shaman outstretched her arm and placed a small rock in my hand.  Curling my fingers around the stone, I felt her warm hands surround mine.

I peered down, opened my palm to see a salmony pink motif of a fire-dragon outlined  in the centre of  this ancient dark stone.  Turning, I ran  back through the gathering darkness down the dirt path, knee-length grasses brushing against my legs, back towards  the village of drummers circled-up on the beach.  “BOOM, boom, boom, boom.  BOOM, boom, boom, boom,” the sounds of the drums intensified as I drew nearer my clan, my heart racing with wildness. Welcomed in with whoops and hugs, I was.  Without delay, the next journeyer set off, racing down the path, skirts flying towards the shaman gatekeeper silhouetted on the hilltop.

Our journey that evening was into a fairy glen on the Isle of Arran.  Our assignment was to take an individual journey into this mysterious place, whilst being supported from afar on  the beach by  a ‘clan’ of fellow journeyers. The clan’s job was to keep a strong and steady heartbeat drumming, singing, dancing, chanting; calling in Creator Spirit as protection, guide, and support for each journeyer.  One shaman guarded the ‘gate’ or doorway to the glen, ensuring safe entry into and exit from the magic place.

The waves on the ocean were gentle that night; the sun warm and golden when we first arrived and took some time to choose the spot on the beach where we would set up our support camp.  How we came to choose that specific spot was a mystery to me.  However, when I turned around and looked out to the sea, I  shivered when my eyes landed upon the clear outline of a ‘sleeping dragon’ - a large black outcrop of rock rising out of the ocean, meeting our beach.  Did anyone else see this figure?  I stayed quiet.

The drumming was hypnotic and strong, allowing for deep safety as each journeyer made her (his) way into the glen.  I could not forget the ‘sleeping dragon’ who lay before  me and I dared to venture down to the black rocks in the middle of this ritual.  Stretching out flat, belly down, I closed my eyes and let myself be carried by the drum; allowing myself to sink into the rock.  My belly began to warm, my face, my hands.  In truth, the rock was warming in the coolness of the evening.  This made no sense.  I felt myself being lifted gently, then dropped. The rock was breathing.  Up and down.  Up and down, gently.  I clung to this living breathing rock.  Was I going mad?  

Inside my body, I felt a rush of sensual energy rise from my root and travel throughout my body.  The long haired shaman leapt towards me, navigating the rough rocks with ease, her forest green shawl dancing in the wind. Her smile was big.

“Do you remember?” she asked, waiting, bracing her hoop drum. Her eyes were soft and wild, taking in the rock, the sky, the vast ocean.

Yes, I remembered.  I had been a dragon lover.  My yoni was wet and dripping now and I felt like an infinity of energy had been accessed through this merging.

“When the dragons were forgotten and the world of magic was feared and forgotten, the dragons, in their sadness, went to sleep.  They died.  They became solid rock, like this one.  You look, you will witness them everywhere.  This dragon is happy to know YOU remember, so happy, he has come to life!”  She pointed to the rock, an arrow of light gleaming from her eyes, bounced off a wee crystal held in the blackness of the dragon. Without words, she took the crystal between her finger and thumb and dropped it into my hand.

She danced with glee over the rock back to the clan of drummers and dancers, leaving me there in my ecstasy, the strength of the drumming holding me in that place for some time.

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What was this fairy glen all about anyhow?  And why were we here?  And why did we need so much protection?  And why from so far away down the beach?  Why, why, why?

“Trust, trust, trust,” was the voice I heard in return.

It was my turn to enter the fairy glen. Once ‘in’, I quickly battled some thick deep purple raspberry canes, sharp and thorny.  “Trying to take me down, are you, nasty little fairies?” I muttered.  I had learned that the faerie realm was taken with  a much more serious air in Scotland, unlike our North American ‘cutesie’ approach to the fairy world.  The path led me to a large pool of water fed by a waterfall above, gushing.  The surrounding area was thick with a brilliant green carpet of moss.  My nostrils opened like an animal’s to the potency of this place. Stripping off my clothes, I submerged myself into the dark pool, letting myself be taken by the coolness and the depths. 

I had an offering to make in the fairy glen.  Reaching up, I suspended one, two, three...eight fairy charms from the tree branches overhanging the sacred pool.  The fairy strands wiggled and played as I let go. Strung together by children from the other side of the ocean - in Nova Scotia -  these colourful, magical and treasure-filled strands were now hanging in this hidden mysterious glen on the Isle of Arran.

“Thank you. Thank you.  Thank you,” they whispered, delighted by the swirling, twirling, wildly dancing strands. “Let the children remind you of the magick!”

“Soak it in. Swim with it.  Be with it.  Merge with it.  Dance with it.  Carry it home!” they called out.  Pulling myself out of the pool, dripping and unafraid, I dressed myself.

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“This is my medicine,” I am reminded, “dragon medicine.  Don’t ever forget it.” I squint as I look into the stone and see the salmony pink fire-dragon reveal itself.

“Honour the dragon.  Honour my dragon.”  What does that mean?

My wildness. My power.   My roar.  My sexuality.  My inner knowing.  My wisdom.  My magick.

Be unafraid of your magick, Sarah.   It is time to wake up the sleeping dragon.  Make haste.  Call your dragon up out of the stone.  Fire it up.  Fly with it.  Dance with it.  Ride the dragon.  Invite others to ride with you over on the heavens.  Free and wild. Soaring.

Everyday, call in the dragon to be with you.  Protect you. Guide you. Love you.  Let the dragon teach you of sensuality, fire, breathing, loving.  Celebrate your sensual existence here on the Earth.”  My gaze is transfixed on the dancing fire-dragon. I squeeze the stone as this message settles into my bones.

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When I write this, it is now seven years since my experience on the Isle of Arran.  The small dragon stone has been carried with me from home to home on the South Shore of Nova Scotia. Gradually, I am remembering and opening to the dragon’s medicine.  I feel this energy rise up within me.  It is not always a comfortable feeling.  Nor is it so ‘friendly,’ nor polite.  My dragon is very angry she has been ignored all these years.  Not just my years, but the years of those who have gone before, afraid to show up with this medicine.

I have lived much of my life feeling unseen for my gifts, feeling unnoticed.  Actually feeling invisible.  Worthless and troubled for my magick.  Alone.  I have been the one who has forgotten and been afraid of my medicine, and so my dragon has gone asleep.  There is grieving for all the lost time and all the forgetting.  Tears have poured from my neglected dragon.  Tears of abandonment.  

So where does this take me now?  I am called to follow my calling and embrace my medicine, trust it and all that it holds in store for me.  I am called to admit my fears to myself and to others.  I am called to speak my truth and share my story, with love and without shame. I am called to own my gifts, nurture them and offer them where they will be received in honour, for the highest good of all.

It is time for me to ask, ask, ask for what I need to live a thriving magical life; to be supported in sharing my gifts fully.

This is a new beginning of the bold and daring life, embracing who I came here to be.  Fire-dragon.

At your service.

Help me remember.



~ written by Sarah McClure (May 2012 - Sarah was part of  Mahone Bay Centre's Life-writing Spring Session)