Dormant but not dead

"I've been reading some powerful shit,"Not usually one to swear (even the mildest of cusses) with the Seeker, Cordelia was nonetheless fired up. How the topic of dragons came up, she wasn't sure. But it was just the subject these two needed to sort." ... The Painted Boy by Charles de Lint was that powerful shit Cordelia had just read.

In the privacy of time in-between Cordelia wore her color as proudly as any bandit wore her colors to mark territory and signal power. But unlike the colors worn by gangsters, a woman like Cordelia did not advertise her power; decorum set that rule in the long, long ago. She was an old woman by culture's standards -- that is, the culture of the calendar and the values of the trinity of ownership, success and money. If she'd have stayed the corporate route it was possible her name would still be on the deed to the waterfront property at the end of the private road. Maybe, her secret life as a woman with deeply purple beginnings would have found another way to ripen. Or, the money that had earned interest in her retirement accounts might have been less threatening to the karma wanting to be balanced in this life.

Instead ... Cordelia Camilia spent most of her adult life searching for the stories that made it okay to want success in service to her world in a body that was a dormant, but not dead, purple dragon. Doubled jeopardy Cordelia was invisible on at least two counts: old, and not white.

So few dragons alive today had done the work of digging through the mud of their naming. Fortunately, Cordelia made friends with a choice and select brand of artists who made the digging -- what? They made the digging a joint enterprise spreading the load across geography and mythical typography. Doing their work as chronically ill writers in the east and south she filled in the oddly pock-marked northwestern angles with her brand of messages.

The woman in the east was a mythological scholar with credentials tied to the New York publishing industry. The woman in the south was an alchemist and storyteller also academically qualified with roots that served the radical history as only someone with color and language other than English could. Becoming a traveler--unsettled in the contemporary sense of being a home-owner or settled human -- the People sent Cordelia the company of a Seer comfortable with dragons visible in the physical world. The Seer had a hundred lifetimes (or more) which gave her a light quality capable and luminous. Encountering a dormant dragon within an old woman was a whole new level of training for the Seer. It helped that she was the only one of Cordelia's Gang that actually showed up. What these two needed to sort was hands-on and specific work. The other two woman were virtual connections and word-based; made possible because the Internet was a broad broad band for the women who were good with spider webs.

Standing on the campground where Cordelia and the Seer lived, the cool Sunday afternoon drew them into conversation. Cordelia had just taken her sack of garbage to the bins. The creak from the old blue van signaled Cordelia. Dressed in the warm thick robe and slippers, the little woman waved and they met midway between their rigs.

"I've been doing some deep healing," missing in action for a day or two was normal. Cordelia simply nodded, understanding there were no daily requirements for engagement; they both knew the work of living was a full time job.

"How you doing, hon?"

"Pretty good," Cordelia said truthfully, "I'm okay really. But I gotta tell you I've just finished reading some powerful shit!" Not usually one to swear (even the mildest of cusses) with the Seeker, Cordelia was nonetheless fired up. How the topic of dragons came up, she wasn't sure. Memory slips happened, often.  But then the Seer patiently steered them forward. The subject of dragons needed sorting and it couldn't wait...


Keep reading.

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