The Gray Dragon

I took the small chunk of oxycodone from Jack as I sat, placing the Resurrection Plant in my cupped hands. On my ear rested a dried, dyed poppy flower. He swirled the incense around me, and swirls of smoke escaped all about. 1

I concentrated, trying to enter a state of open vulnerability. I chewed the Wild Dagga, the Lion's Tail, in my mouth. I considered that it might let me feel my lion's tail. 2

In the back of my mind, my shadow chewed at the coming rite, wanting to doubt Jack's ability and, to the shadow, his "superstitions." 3

Jack sat behind me on the bed, preparing the cannabis. For symbolic purposes, he blended three medical-grade strains with relevant properties between his fingers over a book, reverently rendering this regal repast into smokable form. The sacrament now prepared, he loaded it into the sleek new pipe. A fitting piece for its owner; crystal-clear, except for the crimson stain spiralling down the neck which messily imbrued the bowl with its sanguinary ruby tones.4

The room hazed with Nag Champa incense. 5

Our sanctuary. 6

Jack, interestingly enough, was a strict scientific materialist at one point, similarily to me. 7

He pulled open the blinds, telling me to sit with my back facing the window. Not only was the sunlight purifying, Jack needed the illumination.8

Standing behind me, he ran his knife against the sharpening tool. 9

He told me to feel the Resurrection Plant. It had fully opened then, blooming from a dry brown dead-seeming state into an intricate deep jade roseaceous shape. Its energy purled against me, feeling dense and concentrated. I thought of Jesus, and I thought it to be a beautiful plant. 10

He told me to hold still. I then felt the sharp edge of the knife begin to dig, then in a sudden burst of blinding pain and deeper intensity, he lacerated my skin. 11

He channeled the energy of the knife. It was an extension of himself ripping into this quaint, beautiful, wonderful Lion soul. 12

Closing my eyes against the biting intensity, I tried to open myself and reach out into the room, seeking.13

Delicately, but with as much intensity to me, he made the cut a bit deeper. With great care, Jack gently milked the cut to produce enough for the next portion of the ritual. Then he carefully pressed the lip of a bowl against it, gathering the essence of me inside. 14

Feeling the blood slowly ooze into the open air, I realized I could also feel the ward, woven ineffably into-through-within-around the walls. It was faint enough for my shadow to grouse in disparagement, but a deeper instinct knew I felt it. 15

Concentrating, I reached out for it, trying to wind some of my Self into it while grasping the Resurrection Plant to anchor myself. 16

Jack then cut himself, taking his own blood and rubbing it to mine, making us blood-bonded. I felt the sting and the warming sensations of the bond in an inexplicable way. The image of a many-headed DNA snake came into my mind, with as many heads as different entities; and I imagined two of the heads of the Great Helix staring into one another and bonding by code forever.17

We then took my blood in the bowl to the ward on our door--a piece of paper with various symbols on it, created by Jack. Its images of the storm, sun, moon, spiral, and Jack's glyph, the center of the paper, as well as in the four corners of the paper--were draped in my blood, infused with my gnosis. Then the dream catcher was given a splotch as well, as was the wolf skull at the back of the bed--fetish and holder of Blood-In-The-Fog, a preadtor-spirit with deathly aspects.18

I was now offered the protection of the ward. 19

Afterwards, we worked with our chalk pastels, as we had before the rite. I began to further get a grasp of using them, making an odd, energetic, abstract piece with vibrant color meldings. Jack drew a tree on a cliff.20

Later, as Jack and I lay lovingly next to each other, I took the Resurrection Plant from beside the window. I gently removed it from its dish, and dangled water over Jack's belly wounds.21

When it was done, I put the graceful plant back into its dish, staring at it intently. I thought of what else I could do, and taking the plant, I moved it over the wounds, shaking it and watching as its healing water rivuletted onto Jack's wounds. I then gently rubbed my hands over the water and wound, sealing the bond, and focusing on healing, and Bear, and green--all great auspices of growth.22

When it was over, Jack inquired, "How did you know to do that?"23

"What?" 24

"You know what," he said. 25

It clicked into place. "Ah, using the roots. I just thought of what to do." 26

"You talked to the plant," he said.27

I smiled.28

Afterwards, Jack and I decided to shower together; and I felt a lingering sensation of Storm. It seemed to permeate my essence, and felt exactly like a storm--but there was no storm. Other than perhaps inside of me. 29

When I looked in the mirror, my eyes were grey.