I Want To Be A Dragon

Yesterday I saw a dragon dancing ribbon- like through the sky.  Muted greens and blues swirling languidly and dissolving  into mist and coiling up into a golden rice bowl.  

Now you might have understood if I’d said I want to hold a dragon in a tiny precious bowl.  To own it. To possess it.  But oh no.  Not me.  I do not want to hold this dragon.  I want to be this dragon.  This beautiful creature that travels on the wind and the water.  This trickster magician who can transform into anything at all.  Grace and power held together with scales and fire – aloft and afloat on currents spiraling across and around and through and over and …. oh.  

 (I only told my son – who knows all about these sorts things – but he just rolled his eyes at me.) 

It is of course simply a symptom of the way that my brain works. (No!  Not a symptom!  A spectacular byproduct of my playful and meandering ADD brain!)  

You see… 

I want to be a poet. I want to be a burlesque feather fan dancer. I want to be a wise old man holding court under a tree on a mountain top.  

And now I want to be a dragon. 

And so I’ve decided that the lizard I’m getting tattooed on the back of my neck needs to have wings along with his leash.  (Fucking lizard). And I changed my password to dragon girl. Because if I put it on my skin and write it down every day … Then I think I can claim it into existence.  

Because I can be anything. 

No. I can be everything. 

Even a dragon…