De Anima

Kombucha for the Afflicted

In the teal whirlpools of my youth, there existed a blameless apparition by the name of Zolisephia, cousin once removed of the great phantom Yuki-Onna (Snow Queen to the Japanese).

She spent her idle time chasing hell flies in the abominations of The Second Circle, and spraying the young men of the hinterlands with putrid fragrances that left a corrosive mold and rot in the coarsest hairs of their nostrils.

On my evening twilight flights, I would plunge downward into the desolations of that cyclopean volcano where she resided.

Mile upon mile I would descend and spiral along the Herculean cliffs until, at last, we would meet on a suitable ledge, where we would converse and drink our briny kombucha made of the fermented fears and naiveté of lovers. 

Milkyway Fish Flakes

Bewildered, with inept prescience, I squinted toward the source of the high-frequency clicking that had flagellated both the serenity of that patch of coral reef and My eardrums. Out of the midnight blue rippled-satin obscurity, she emerged, straddling bareback a lactose dolphin through the milkyways and currents of those underseas.

Through and through she traversed through the blue topaz wildwoods that adorned the subaqueous basin frontier.

A Cuban-Filipino China doll with a porcelain disposition that hunted pedestrian fish flakes strolling vegan boulevards.

They galloped past Me, and with a bolt, propelled into the thickets of My reverie.  

The Mundunugu Who Inspected My Muladhara

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! 

Walking Into the Dark and Calling Out to Them

I walked into the dark, and called out to them.

I could hear my echo rattle the confines of the space and amplify the nightfall. No answer back.

I hadn't formally met them before, but I had a general feeling of how they were supposed to be, and I felt that they would know me just the same.

I continued this practice of walking into the dark and calling out to them for 17 days, and at the end of this period nothing had happened. So I stood there and came to the conclusion that I would try again for another 17 days, and that I would resume in 2 and a half weeks, after the arousal had coagulated.

In the subsequent days, I ate Cuban sandwiches, caught up with reading, spent time with my crystals, and spoke to my vagabond brother's caged animal that slept in the hallway by the bathroom.

That epoch was like an enzyme that catalyzed something within me that I haven't yet figured out.  

Undulations

Undulating waves of sound serenaded the Amazonian crown canopy and reverberated in their ears.

Primordial vibrations trespassed unto the slumberland of their consciousness and educated the eternal id.

The mystical didgeridooist was given the keys to the holy kingdom of Imagination, only to be later crucified by Peter.

The Sword of Truth baptized many, in their own blood.  

Chapped

And when asked about Her Grandson, The Dragon Master's Grandmother spoke thus:

Verily, I say unto you...

As the wolves stalk their prey, and as the sage elucidates nomadic truth, so too will the naysayer pathetic worms be condemned to pussy-suckle in The Second Circle.

Chapped will their lips be.

Chapped will their spirit be.

Chapped will their hope for salvation be.

For their Heavenly Lord is My Grandson, and His FURY is their cross.