Now, this dragon knew she wanted to be different than she
was. She was quite happy with some parts of herself: her chestnut and silver and
gold scales (shut up, you imagine your dragons how you want and I’ll imagine
mine and mine has chestnut scales, okay? They glow kinda red in the sunset and
they’re lovely), the strength of her
wings, the agility of her mind. She worried over her claws, though, and the way
she’d swing her tail without thinking, and how dangerous the combination of the
strength of her jaw and the sharpness of her teeth could be when she went on
the attack. As a rule, she didn’t want to hurt anyone. She wanted to be one of
those kind and wise old dragons that were sought out for their knowledge and
advice and sometimes protection.
So she went on a journey to learn how to be kind and wise.
She flew away from her places of comfort and sought out the places where the
wise lived with their castles and libraries and extinct volcanoes. She spent
many borrowed gold coins (not all dragons have hoards) and gained knowledge, a
new way of knowing, and the conviction that the best progress might simply be
asking better questions. But for all she learned, it didn’t seem that wisdom
followed directly from knowledge and anyway, she knew she needed to learn how to
be kind. She winced at the claw marks she left.
She flew away again and after a few days settled in another
new land. There she folded her wings and made a home because she knew that
kindness did not come easily to her and that her search for wisdom had only
sharpened her claws and made her more careless with her tail. But no matter how
much she worked at kindness, no matter how many words she heard from those of
great kindness, she still found her knowledge coming out of her mouth like her
flame: such potential to be useful and life-giving but mostly harmful
undirected burning, like an out-of-control forest fire, until maybe one day she
hypothetically finds herself pacing in beer aisle of the grocery store,
rehashing her thoughts about baptism loudly on the phone to a dragon friend,
convinced of her rightness as she stalks up and down past the bottles until she
sweeps through the checkout and actually starts listening to what’s being said.
That’s just an example of what might could have happened. And after that, she
might find herself discouraged in spite of all the kindness that had been shown
to her and walking into the woods, looking for a cave to settle into until her
heart cools.
But the dragon had missed something fundamental all along:
kindness and wisdom are not easy for any dragon. All dragons are born with
claws and tails and teeth and it takes practice to be aware of the space you
occupy and to control the way the fire escapes from your mouth. Every dragon
stumbles along the way because dragon feet are not used to walking it and the
wind makes flying impossible, at least at first. There’s not much use in screeching
at yourself because you’ve fallen. You’re a dragon. You’re simply going to fall
from time to time. Stock up on aloe, burn ointment, and bandages for others,
but don’t forget that those talons on the end of your feet can cut you too, so
be kind and understanding with yourself as you pick yourself back up.
I would love to tell you that the dragon preserved on the
path in spite of it all, that she learned the self-control that leads to wisdom
and kindness and was able to master the mindset that enables her to use her
powers for good, not evil, but unfortunately, the dragon is still figuring
things out. She asks, though, that you be patient with her, as best as you can,
and pray for her as she learns how to walk through and fly and finally soar on
the winds that enliven and push her through every step of her journey. Hopefully
that patience and prayer will be enough.
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