The DM13 Journal
When we let go of our crippling desire to be understood by the herd, and decree Self-Sovereignty, we begin to ascend toward the liberating heights of Self-mastery.
Keep drinking from that golden chalice in the meantime, and never apologize for any spilt ambrosia from your sweetened lips–the gods will exalt you.
Freshly released into the wildwoods of My new life, all I could do was sit meekly next to the sadistic cage that had deprived My vigor for all those months. I was like some domesticated tiger that had lost its pounce.
I looked in all directions from My docile position, and spotted her off into the distance, but she was no longer looking in My direction. Her penetrating gaze was engrossed on her new prey, and she was stalking quietly, patiently, with sinister intentions.
I inhaled the crisp air, feeling the buoyancy of fresh breath in My chest–not the stale kind that had cemented My lungs for so long. Although I was free to go, I still found Myself psychologically confined to My diagnoses.
As I sat there, cursing My will under the ambivalence of night, I could hear rustling noises in the bushes–it was feeding time for her, and someone was getting theirs.
And in the last days, art was one of the first luxuries to go, or rather, art for commerce–after all, there were those who made an art of dying in the way they did–flailing their lopsided limbs through the air and shrieking in decibels that pierced unnerved ears below.
The gratuitous sky being who carried out the rapture was a bored conductor, and the mortals in this density were It's momentary orchestral diversion.
From My shadow lair, I watched with amusement as people squawked fragmented prayers and crossed themselves with vigor. Soon they would come to know the absurd and grotesque nature of their true origins.
To the North of the Farasis River lived the Mundunugu who was to inspect My Muladhara.
The waters disallowed man-made vessels, so ferry by amphibious camel was required. Mine possessed a malachite sedimentary coat, with eyes of a rose-quartz sparkle, and an aquamarine swagger that circumvented My doubt. It comfortably sat 2 people in the valleys of its humps–befitting for My sherpa and I.
We treaded toilsomely along spinal upstream currents, and ignored the sirens who attempted to ensnare us in their booby traps. The trip was had in 2 hours and 47 minutes. The sun was receding in the sky and illuminated the red jasper mist in its afterglow as we bushwhacked toward her hut.
When we arrived, My sherpa called out to her, and at once I was greeted by an apparition who licked My chakra with her world-without-end diagnosis. She explained that I possessed a hot tongue, and that the only prescription for this was a licking that lashed My being clean.
It is a generally known consensus among us Dragon Masters that modern-day pharmaceuticals know nothing of holistic healing and well-being. Praise be to the almighty female tongue!
