Three in a row.  I have had three consecutive dreams of the boy battling dragons, or a dragon.  Historically, this happens once, maybe twice a month.  Yet, three in repetition.  Is this communication or just a lazy subconscious repeating stale material night after night?

Dragon Dream 3:

The challenge had been scorched in the dirt at the edge of the boy’s pond.  Again, dragon.  Again, undecipherable.

The boy, emotionless as he read the steaming missive, sipped the last of his green tea.  In the distance, he saw the dragon flying out onto the desert plain.  It landed at a distance that made its bulk diminutive.  This would require a mount.  The boy stepped back inside.

Within his Baobab tree, he left his cup in the sink and stepped to his armory.  With careful consideration, he selected a two handed sword perfectly balanced for his size.  Next a lance of ginormous proportion made from the ivory of a massive elephant tusk.  And finally, his shield with family crest, radio waves squiggling across a sun and moon fashioned by his own hands out of dragon scales.  This was his prize.  Everything else in this world popped into being with only a thought.  This shield he had made.  It was real and warmed to his touch.

Weapons picked, the boy walked outside and imagined the fiercest horse he could.  Particle by particle, the horse appeared, snorting and digging at the dirt under its heavy girth.  The boy visualized tack and armor for his war horse and that too appeared strapped properly in place.  Fully attired for battle, the boy leapt on his mounts back.

He rode out onto the desert plain watching his dragon nemesis the entire journey.  The dragon never moved.  It laid motionless on the sand much like a cat begging for food.  Heat wobbled vigorously up from the desert floor.  As he grew near his enemy, it appeared as if he was descending into hell and the reptile waited to guide him the last mile.

Finally, straddling his mount, the boy faced the dragon from a mere twenty feet.

“You left me a message,” the boy shouted.

“Arrraarrrrooarr,” the dragon replied.

“That’s what I thought.”

And with that, the boy dropped his lance from the neutral position of up to that of offense pointing straight ahead.

“Attack!” he shouted, kicking his charger into motion.

Galloping forward the boy noticed the dragon only lowered its head to the ground.  Almost subservient in nature, the boy’s resolve sputtered.  He halted just inched away.  The dragon did not move.  Only the breath from its nostrils blew at the dust below.

The boy, never letting his lance deviate from the point between the dragon’s eyes, stood atop his mount confounded.  The dragon moved only its eyes looking up into the boy’s face.

“You asked for the challenge.  Scorching my front yard as you did.”

The dragon shook its head slowly left to right showing no menace.

“Then who did?”

The dragon fixed the boy with a strong gaze before pointing at itself with its front paw.

“So, fight then, if you challenge me.”

“Ummmroooaarrrrah,” the dragon breathed out, bits of flame escaped from the sides of its snout.

“I don’t understand,” the boy bellowed at the perplexing beast.

Then, lifting its front paws up in a peaceful posture, the dragon rose.  Its eyes fixed on the boys.  With the left paw frozen in place, the right motioned first to its chest then slowly pointed at the boy.  This made no sense.  Combat was never like this.  You met your foe and then dispatched them as quickly as possible.  There was never discussion or negotiation.  And that was what this dragon appeared to be doing … trying to engage in a dialogue.

The boy watched as the dragon repeated this gesture again and again.  The boy, not releasing his lance, let its tip rest on the ground.  He then took his right hand and repeated the gesture, touching his chest and then pointing at the dragon.  The dragon, if joy was an understandable emotion for them, appeared to radiate just that … joy.  The dragon then started to draw something in the sand.  The boy watched. First there was one line, then two, three and finally four.

The boy and the dragon were so focused on the sand drawing that neither noticed the approach of the other nine beasts.  Before the boy’s opponent could start a row of five, it was seized upon by its companions.  A fierce fracas ensued as the dragon was attacked from all angles.  The roaring was deafening.  The boy wasn’t sure if he should rush home or stay and help.  With his indecision, his imagined mount began to disappear as if by one atom at a time.  The boy felt his war horse melt away from under him as the dragons fought each other.  With the remains of his horse dissolving underneath, the boy saw the dragon he’d faced staring at him above the fray.  The eyes held compassion.  The eyes held warning.  They were intense and this time held a single message … run.

And so run the boy did.  He left his ivory tusk lance and his two handed sword and ran.  Ran with all the strength his young legs contained.  The only weapon he took was his shield.  The shield of dragon scales.  Slung over his back, the shield gave him cover should the dragons notice his exit and follow.

But, they never did.  The boy ran all the way back to his home in the tree without assault by a single dragon.  At his door, he turned and looked back.  All that could be seen was dust, wings and claws all vying for predominance in the distance.  With a furious burst, one dragon broke clear of the scrum and flew off chased closely by the others.  A fervent look back at the boy and the dragon flew away to the mountains once more.

The boy entered his house quickly closing the door behind him.  His breath came in wheezing heaves.  This was new.  This was not combat.  This was communication.  He had no idea dragons were anything other than irritating, dull, brutish beasts.

+++++

And here the dream ends.  There are so many possible meanings that I can’t begin to articulate the reason for these three successive dreams.  Yet, communication appears the main theme.  I will now have to brew some green tea, have a biscuit and meditate on these midnight mêlées seeking audience with my conscious self.

I will get back to you.

M. Haygood