The Dragon rider - Xavier Liras

The Abyss.

The Abyss. At first there was nothing but Abyss, an empty Abyss.
But there was no sorrow, no fear, no lack
no desire
within that darkness
Just Silence. The Silence of a Seed
an uroboros, a snake, a dragon
biting its tail
It poisoned itself
and with that poison
there exploded the antidote
the panacea that gave birth
to a wounded, screaming World
The umbilical cord
the terror, pure terror of the newborn
and then, opened-eyed
fascination of a world that is still
his World
First, the separation
Then, he touched the world and
understood, with no words
that the World was also His.

Unseparated

And this is how we really are
unseparated from the world
we go on, in childhood, magically
screaming, alone, through the fields
laughing in the sunlight
the two kids, holding hands
no past, nor future
just the way things
are
the way things
ought to be.

Unseparated.

And then, one day
naked, our hearts beating
with joy
the snake came back
the snake of the Abyss
and bit you
on your little foot.
And you were dying
Dying.

Death.

Death descended from the terrible
sky; ascended from the depths
like an earthquake
Death for a child
I remember. The fear, like a faceless
wave, a dark wave that
threatened to take you away
from
me.

Separation.

Snake! I screamed
my eyes gleaming
with fear, with terror
and, then, with rage
the first hateful
eyes
in that world.

I took a branch
a pointed branch
like a lance
and pierced the snake’s
skin
the snake is dead!

The snake’s blood
quick!
I took the snake’s blood
and covered your
wound
with it.

And, miraculously
you went back
to life.
We hugged, with laughter
and tears.
Reunion.
Desire.
I love you.
I won’t leave you
no more.

And I
And I will
make love
to you.

And then,
from behind
the snake, reborn
spoke.

From my old body
you took the poison
and the antidote
and now you both
you both are son and daughter
of the Snake
of the Dragon.

This is how the ancient race of the Dragon
was born.
It is said the descendants
of the first humans bit and cured
by the snake poison and blood
were the Dragon riders that would
become legendary.
But then, their legend disappeared
and the Usurpers, the false heroes
started killing the Dragons.

Mysterium Coniunctionis.

First, there was an abyss
then, the snake killed herself
and cured herself
so the two children could be born
and, in innocence, they roamed the worlds
free from worry, free from sorrow
and desire.
Until the Snake took back
what was Hers.
The Wound
The Cure.
So that Love could
work itself through the ages
and the Wound of the world
be cured once and for all.

Everything in this world
is a dance
between poison
and antidote.
And until they are both
one, and the same
the same drama
the same theater
will repeat always
and forever.

But maybe
that’s
the beauty
of it all.

The red wheat
waving as the seas of
that beauty beyond poetry
beyond words
that belongs
to the fairy
the madman
and the child.

Red wheat, take me back
to that moment when
my lips departed
with a smile
brewing poetry
in this Inner World.

Mysterium of the Soul.

And I said:

The Red Wheat

Fear was dissolving inside the reddish wheat
exploding life from within the jar of centuries
the cauldron of fairies
life beating clearly, fast
a dance in sunlight
with every song
a new world was created
spiraling, embracing the eternal whirlwind
interconnecting stories
where does everything start and finish?

Nobody cared.

The moon in those days was blue
soft, dissolving in the night
beating like a heart
its rays embracing the dancers
we had sex, wild forests, the beast
that springs within
horns of harvest, erection
penetration.

Riding the wave
of my desire
a rune sprang from your lips
Horned, bearded, the ancient
roots of the forests
possessed me.
And the dance went on and on
And fairy after fairy
they rode and traveled and screamed
rune after rune
the seed grows like the garden
through a Monzoon
and vibrating, riding waves
like an excited sitar
making love with the drums.
And we were born from that storm
a lightning over the pond
They came out, naked
and she was pregnant
with the son of the Runes.
And it is said that only Him
can take the sword
from the side of the Dragon,
only the son of the Dancers of Worlds

The son of the Horned One
will pull the sword that torments the Beast
and then he will ride the Dragon
And liberate each world
pierce the veil and sing the song
of the runes, once again.

The amount of synchronicities surrounding this theme would be scary, if I didn’t know about the Reality of Synchronicities. I took a card out of my hundreds of cards, and the theme, as you can see, is the same as the one I have been talking about, lately. The Dragon riders. But first I will explain to you, my beloved reader, what those cards are. Those cards are a compilation of my stories and their recurring themes and elements during the years. I stored all of them, patiently, so that I could reuse them whenever I pleased. What I normally do, is take one of those elements, randomly, with my eyes closed. Today I took the card of the Abyss and the other one was about the World Tree. Then, finally, I took a poem I wrote some months ago, a poem I totally forgot about “The Red Wheat”. No matter how many times synchronicities keep happening, you are never prepared for them. When I saw the final lines, I was just in awe. Go back to my previous stories I have been writing lately, and you will know why.

But Enough of this self-masturbatory commentary. I will now proceed to analyze this poem. If you prefer to take in the poem as it is, feel free to skip this analysis. But if you are curious about the different things that can come out from this poem (you never know which rabbit hole we will end up into!) then please, come with me!

First I will explain to you why I feel the need to analyze, write and compose from my own poetry and stories. The answer is more simple than you imagine. It is simply because, when I write, I do it as if I was possessed by a spirit. I rarely remember the things I wrote about. It is similar to a process of invocation, but in reverse. I am invoked by a Spirit and I become a vessel for a story, a poem or an art piece to be expressed in a certain way. That’s why, I am the first one totally surprised and puzzled by the themes I talk about in my writings. And, lately, instead of just forgetting about what I write, I decided to go back to those themes, as if they were portals to other worlds. I want to enter those Portals and see what lies behind!

Here, for example:

There is a mention of a Cauldron of fairies where the “red wheat” seems to grow. Those fairies are dancing, life is pulsating in the Center, in this Cauldron. Intense sunlight, it’s mid-day, an intense, golden Sun is pouring over this place, this sacred place, the Center of this New World. A New World is being created in an Spiral of Interconnected stories. A whirlwind, a dance, there is life, sex, a conception, sex, a new language, a new world, a newborn, pregnancy. Look at the latest stories I have been writing. They all talk about a new world, pregnancy, conception, the Egg, an eruption, intense sex, pregnancy.

This is how the poem continues:

where does everything start and finish?
Nobody cared.

This is where I am, exactly, right now. I don’t care anymore about starting or finishing my stories. I don’t care where they are going. I just express myself freely. Just a curiosity. I wrote this poem many months ago, but it is only relevant to me, right now, through total chance. My inner worlds aren’t linear: they already exist, and they are all laid out for me to discover, to build, to connect, to find the hidden patterns.

But let’s continue.

The Blue moon that appears as if it was alive, its heart beating. That’s a very recurring theme for me lately, as well. I have the feeling that there are Two Moons: the one that is “veiled” (the white one we see every day with our “normal” eyes) and the one that is alive, the true one, that one that we can see with the True Eye. It is blue. It doesn’t have craters, holes. It’s not deserted. It’s a sort of a distant world, a blue world, a piece of paradise that is hanging over the Earth. This is Her, the one that inspires the poets. It’s profoundly feminine. It has the same texture as the blue hair of the nymph, the fairy, the sidhe that shows up in my stories quite often. Here, the theme of the two worlds, the one that is pure, multidimensional, with its true colors, the one that is alive, with all the things alive, all gods inhabiting every thing. Everything is alive and has a spirit dwelling within, like in shinto. And then, the other world, the one that is veiled, fallen, kind of dead. I think with the advent of materialism we sank more and more into this world and now we are anchored into it. An image came to my mind while I was talking about this Fallen world of materialism. It’s this one, by William Blake. Isaac Newton measuring his limited worldview while ignoring the vastness of the real world around him, totally blind by his own ideology:

After that, as I mentioned before, the theme of sex, wild sex. The beast of the forest, the lord of the forest, is a figure that comes out here. It’s the Wild One, and you will see that He has a harem of fairies or nymphs. Making love, they are creating a new world and a new language with the runes.

Riding the wave
of my desire
a rune sprang from your lips
Horned, bearded, the ancient
roots of the forests
possessed me.

So, the Horned One, the Wild One,
has possessed me, the one that
until recently, was the observer
of the scene. The artist is possessed by the beast of the forest and makes love with the fairy, and from this love, a new world is conceived. There is no separation between the artist and the beast. The wild, dark, masculine forest makes love to the placid nymphs of the sun and the moon. Light and darkness. Wild and tame.

And the dance went on and on
And fairy after fairy
they rode and traveled and screamed
rune after rune
the seed grows like the garden
through a Monzoon
and vibrating, riding waves
like an excited sitar
making love with the drums.

Here there is a very interesting theme. The Runes seem to be equivalent to Seeds. In fact, Runes are Seeds. They are seeds of knowledge. Each rune can have a huge amount of different meanings, as the archetypal energies they are. Another interesting thing is that I don’t know how the Runes of my Universe look, yet. But I am not worried by this. I am not in a rush. I know they exist and they are going to come out when the time is right. Like Rilke used to say: “The right words, the right Art, only comes at the right time. Patience is a great virtue of the poet and the artist”. The artist is always rushing through things. He lost the virtue of waiting and patience. Like a conception, it takes time to give birth. And, like a harvest, it takes time to grow. And there’s no use in trying to use “magic” to make them grow faster. Magic is great, but nature is also magical. And the laws of nature are majestic, elegant, beautiful.

Waiting is beautiful.
We normally equate waiting with anxiety. I think that a better word than waiting would be “expectation”. We know it is coming. But it will only come when the time is right.

A new world is already within the belly.
The Nymph is pregnant with it.

It continues:

And she was pregnant
with the son of the Runes.
And it is said that only Him
can take the sword
from the side of the Dragon,
only the son of the Dancers of Worlds

The son of the Horned One
will pull the sword that torments the Beast
and then he will ride the Dragon
And liberate each world
pierce the veil and sing the song
of the runes, once again.

Let’s start from the first paragraph. The son of the Runes, the lord of the new world, is born from that conception. The Runes of power got screamed (and sang) by the fairies, while getting fucked by the Horned Beast of the Forest. One of the fairies, the queen of the fairies (? just a supposition) got pregnant as a result. She gave birth to a son that has been conceived by the full power of the Runes. He is the Master of the Runes, of the New World. In fact, I don’t say it here, but his sword is filled with runes. And those are the runes of the union between the beast (the human) and the fairy (the spiritual). Or the man and the anima, or woman and animus, if we apply some Jungian terminology. The conjunctio between those two polarities is complete with the Third: the Son of the Horned One, the Son of the Runes and the Dancers of Worlds (The fairies).

And then, the last paragraph.

This new Man, this new Fairy, a being that is not human, nor fairy, and both, at the same time, is the only one that can save the dying Dragon from his torment, the sword that is slaving the terrible beast. Why would anyone want to release the terrible Dragon?

The answer is in the writing I wrote before analyzing this poem.

The World was created by the Primordial Dragon / Snake, who bit Itself, and poisoned itself. When it was dying, he revived through its own antidote and panacea. And this pair of opposites, poison and cure, released this New Universe. There is a very profound paradox within this. There could have never been Life and Consciousness without the first Death: the poison, the primeval wound. For the Universe to be whole, there needs to be a reunion between the Human and the Dragon. The Human and the Fae. The Human and the Spirit. For the Conjunction to happen, both Poison and Antidote must become one.

The perfect image of that is a human riding a dragon. This is the image of wholeness. Against this image, the Usurper, the Parasite, the Psychopath, the Enemy of life, projects the legend of the hero that slays the dragon.