Dragon Days

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The statement echoed in Zena’s mind. It was weirdly exactly what she wanted to hear. The white bearded old man who greeted her with those words had kind, trustworthy eyes, hazel colored and adorned with thick lashes and the type of wrinkles that only came from wisdom. So she allowed herself to get excited, maybe this trip would be more than soul searching and isolation.”I’ll take that as my first good omen of the trip, may the universe bless me with many more.” Zena whispered happily to herself.

Her grandmother had spoken of dragons often when talking about her homeland. Zena always figured they were simply mythical creatures from a beautiful oral myth passed down over the generations. Her grandmother would preach of their majestic scales, brilliant metallic hues of magenta, turquoise, jade, silver and gold, all with different patterns, the excess and absence of either coloring determining their roles in life. She described them as ancient teachers that taught the Valourè all that they knew about treating each other, the earth and the heavens.

Though Zena believed her grandmother was exaggerating her stories, the little girl in her was amazed by the thought of living amongst such marvelous creatures and possibly finally meeting one. Her childhood was filled with dreams of the dragon knitted on her blankie bestowed on her at birth. Her grandmother said her name was Laena, her scales were predominantly magenta; the color of wisdom with flecks of gold and silver flashing with her movement and piercing mint green eyes. Laena was the mother of dragons, she was centuries old, an immortal, receiving her as a teacher was the highest honor.Zena’s grandmother prophesied before her birth that she would be the next in line to learn of Laena’s wisdom. Zena felt some pressure from this prophecy but she also knew that her soul searching period was the most important to her family.

This was Zena’s second time visiting her family's homeland the first was when she was five and now at eighteen both a part of a tribal tradition that had existed since before her time. Whenever a family moved away each new child was supposed to come back at the age of five to be blessed by the ancestors, a sort of christening. They were then again supposed to visit at eighteen to experience primal freedom within the land of their true birth home and find their soul selves, the lucky ones often met with a special teacher, one of dragon descent.

The island was loud that evening, the tree creatures singing and chattering amongst themselves. It was much like she remembered it as a child, mango trees ripe with fruit, sandy dirt roads, huts made from bamboo and grass. This [art of the village was offset from the rest specifically for special occasions and at this time of year only the newly eighteen year olds lived there along with the current shaman who Zena was now realizing was the man who first met her at the entrance. Her hut was the closest to the valley and furthest from the waterfall but she could still hear its rushing waters. She longed to put her stuff down and feel the cool water wash away the day's journey. It appeared she was the first to arrive as on her walk to her hut none of the others seemed to be occupied; there was little disturbance in the dirt road aside from her steps, the shamans, and an occasional monkey.

Not surprised or disturbed by the emptiness Zena dropped her bags in the corner of her hut, it had a simple bed; a pallet made of bamboo with a naturally made mattress atop and crisp white sheets, she placed her Laena quilt on the bed brought along more for comfort than the need for warmth. By the door was a small dark wooden desk with paper and pens along with a matching rocking chair. Lastly in the corner opposite of her bed was a mat and yoga cushions for meditation and yoga. The setup was what the ancestors deemed the essentials for the journey of self exploration Zena had just entered.

She changed into her swimming suit and lathered up in her grandmother's homemade sunscreen. As she headed to the waterfall a gut feeling stopped her in her tracks. The valley was calling her name, there had to be a reason her hut was so close to it. Feeling like she was falling right into her grandmother's prophecy, Zena took the small trek down into the valley anyway. The sun was setting and the sky was a beautiful array of pastel pinks and magenta. Just as the valley became more in view the flash of a metallic magenta tail wagged in the sky and disappeared behind the clouds along with Zena’s lucidness as the shock of its sight turned everything in her world dark.