Disclaimer:

This is a series centered around bringing a detailed personal account to the process of living and self-discovery as one identified by themselves and others as a "Cryptid," or a supernatural being most commonly depicted in folklore. It is designed to shed light on a possible way of life and stir up a community and conversation within that community about cryptozoology and what it means (possibly) to be a cryptid. This is a series centered around bringing a detailed personal account to the process of living and self-discovery as one identified by themselves and others as a "Cryptid," or a supernatural being most commonly depicted in folklore. It is designed to shed light on a possible way of life and stir up a community and conversation within that community about cryptozoology and what it means (possibly) to be a cryptid.





Journey Inward: Dream 2: A Brief Draconic Lineage


The next night: went to bed frustrated--not because of the lack of earthshaking revelations the night before; just an annoying day--took it out on superstition, swore off crystals and prophetic dreams and anything else that resembled the fashionable secular mysticisms, made the sign of the cross, and went to sleep. Of course, I'm no fool; I had the crystals around(Jade and Sodalite, with the addition of Moonstone)--they're always around, normally in a chest that rests some foot and a half from my head--so that they would know, perhaps, if you believe in the temperament of these things (I myself prefer a more scientific approach, granting the bulk of credibility of any power or personality in crystals to those of the quartz group because of their piezoelectric abilities, which of course make it possible or at least feasible to store and replicate frequencies related to certain thought patterns, emotions, etc. (and this did inform my position on the Jade at least)), that something was expected of them, that this was not a game which I would take lightly.

Sometimes the hard-nosed attitude pays off. That night I was taken on a tour through some past that was either too fantastic for this world or forgotten, written off as some superstitious nonsense. I was taken on a tour, flying, by either some Peter Pan magic or under the wings of a dragon, through a vast canyon that seemed to be as ancient as any mighty dragon of any discount fantasy franchise. On the walls there was etched in real time before my eyes the likenesses of several dragons. Some of them, I will admit for the skeptic, closely resembled images I had seen online in a chronicle of mistaken identities: dinosaur for dragon. There I hovered and watched, learning fantastic stories of dragons of old through channels I had yet not fully utilised (there has often been the sense, when I meditate, pray, etc., that I have the ability to perceive a thing without the superimposition of sensory qualities that would otherwise weaken the strength of the experience across certain boundaries of belief systems--though it is not all the time that an experience happens to me this way (I will acknowledge the flagrant convenience here and say in my defense that it is a simple thing to identify the feeling of something first, with having the descriptors of look, sound, etc. coming after; this is just something that some overlook in their quest to become as vaguely factual as the machines used to detect and quantify anomalies in the environment as, I believe, another capability of the human brain to recognise and reconcile later through reasoning and coming to grips with certain feelings in remembered from that moment)). Regardless of any of these hang-ups, I felt a sort of kinship with these creatures that equaled my curiosity and fascination.

Before me was laid out, with I suspect cursory detail, seeing as I did not awaken with the distinct memory of each of these dragon's names, what their possible hoards looked like, who were their nemeses and their specific magical capabilities were (among other things, I'm sure), a roadmap, an index if you will, to a grand and illuminated history the likes of which have been the fearful bane and highest entertainment to the traveling minds of the ages. I know this because I felt the weight of the years passing from creature to creature; I knew it in the way these beasts were presented to me with a kind of familiarity (I make no claim at the moment that these are portraits on some wall, a butler at my side introducing me to my progenitors, but in the way one feels a familiarity or identifies with a character in a movie). It seemed to be something that I couldn't ignore. I can't tell you how long I spent--in dream time, why not, since it seems to be so different and non-linear anyway--washing and poring over these stories, up and down the canyon wall on which they were etched with the skill of a master's chisel. I can safely say, though, that the impression that I might have done such a thing was there--it was just how strongly I was drawn to what I was presented. It also seems to me this may have been the case simply because I was only given a few sentences each (whether or not this is say script at the grave from the other night, I will neither confirm nor deny, but it seems likely). Here again, it is important to remember the intuitive process of reading characters. I have much more to process here then my mind could handle at the moment, I fear.