Dragon/s Dream. A Postmodern Fable. C. Ioutsen

      A very long time ago, when the world was still young and closer to the stars, whose light was strong and whose song could be heard in the deepest of caves, when the waters were still warm and not yet quelled, washing the formless shores, when many things were in their infancy, only to become great ages later – at the inception of all there came the dragons.

      They came from beyond the borders of the world, where they had been traveling long and far, through regions of the void filled with nothing but ever-fading light and cold and emptiness, where time itself was running at once forward and backward, and space was incomplete and inconstant.

      Exactly from how far away the dragons had come or where else they had used to abide, it was not known; they did not speak of this, neither among themselves nor to the wise. It had always been known that whenever the time would be about right for all lights of the world to fade, then the dragons would depart and be on their way, and never come back. It was said also that the dragons alone were aware of when it was meant to happen and were prepared.

      Although the dragons traveled together, they preferred to dwell in solitude; upon coming each dragon chose a place to his liking and settled there all by himself. Some favored dark holes and bottomless pits, and some – mountaintops and gliding clouds, while others scouted for caverns on a seafloor, for wild woods and open fields.

      Then again, some dragons were inclined to move with the world and went everywhere, observing the young things mature and occasionally having a word with their kin. Indeed, all the dragons watched keenly the world age; they marveled at the brevity of life, and remained the same and did not die, nor weakened. They never intervened with the common order of events, unless it was their fate to do so, and each dragon recognized his fate quite well. Not that he necessarily would accept it, for sometimes even the dragons were tempted; that, too, was their fate – to produce an example of lesser wisdom, without which true wisdom would fail to exist. It was rumored that some dragons became so corrupt they finally perished, but the wise had never shared such ignorance, as they understood that a dragon could not possibly perish – he could cease being a dragon. And that is what might have transpired.

      The dragons looked patiently at the children of the world and were content, and waited. And the children sensed their presence and their vigilance, and there was no fear among them. Now and then someone brave enough and reckless enough would seek a dragon to ask for aid or advice, and could gain either or both, if one’s wisdom was equally sufficient. Many did not return, and those that did could not always put a dragon’s favor to a good use. Nonetheless, the dragons were talked about and revered, and sought after. And while they cared for nobody and nothing, they did not mind to act benevolently at one moment, as they did not mind to be cruel at another. They saw good and evil being invented; it was not them who invented either.

      Of all those that dwelled in skies and seas, upon the earth or beneath it the dragons were the wisest and most beautiful, yet their wisdom and their appearance were not of this world but of somewhere beyond; it marked them as distinctly alien, and everyone around could feel that. Some dragons resolved to retain their demeanor, while others it pleased to assume forms more adjusted to the constraints of their new surroundings. Some dragons fancied to veil themselves with an exterior of neighboring creatures, among which they could walk unnoticed, for their own amusement, however ill-suited it might have been for a dragon to forsake his habits and powers for a long while.

      The accounts of those that had actually glimpsed the true form of a dragon varied considerably; even so, several features seemed to be prevalent, relating, admittedly, not to the visible shape itself but to the impression it conveyed upon a spectator. At least one thing could be safely agreed upon – the dragons never presented themselves in a way they were expected to, and neither did their words nor doings.

      No hierarchy or any kind of outward order was known to exist among the dragons. Freedom was their natural state of being, and although every dragon behaved as he saw fit for himself alone, his wisdom, both inborn and acquired, kept him from being troubled and troubling. Dragons never practiced any bondage with each other, nor could they see why so many of the lesser creatures were unable to live without it. In fact, the more sophisticated creatures were becoming, the less able were they to survive on their own; they united themselves in races and all sorts of co-habitation, while only the simplest were solitary. When united, some made up a whole lot of different illusions as a shelter from the world; soon they forgot they had made it all up and believed it, and dismissed everything else. In their blind pride and ignorance these creatures deemed themselves potent and omniscient; they meddled with both the ways of the world and their own fortune. This the dragons witnessed and wondered, though never involved themselves – the best action was the one not taken, and it was not their custom to alter the course of events.

      The time passed. Many dragons grew weary and lost their interest in mundane things, and hid themselves from eyes of mortal creatures, and unmade paths that led to their places. They fell asleep and did not see the world save in their dreams; it was reckoned by the wise that the world itself was just a dream of the dragons – it would end when the last of them would have awakened. But it was not assumed with any certainty, nor may have been proved. For all that, many dragons stayed alert and continued to live as before, flying around, conversing with other creatures and contemplating essence of the existence, and waiting.

      Not much more was to be learned concerning the dragons, whose wisdom and wont were not meant to be reflected upon; as one dragon was reported to have said, the sole way to learn was to unlearn. Hence, he that knows more than says should now hold his tongue and not speak whereof he should be silent.

      On a Riverbank