I was once a religious bigot.
A childhood spent choking on the religion
my parents liked to cram down my throat had soured me to the faith so many
others found solace in. I saw religious books as instruction manuals for the
directionless. How-to guides for finding a purpose.
Secondhand faith. That’s what I
secretly called it.
I even laughed at them and their
TV commercials that seemed to say, “Believe like me and you’ll be
happy.”
Yep, I thought that was pretty funny. Until
I saw the dragon.
Now, don’t read this like a story about
something that couldn’t happen here. Read it from your true vantage point. This
is a world where satellites can see through your bedroom window well enough to
read the results of your pregnancy test. Where the most frightening boogieman
is the guy down the street who keeps trying to lure your son inside his house.
A world where there are no great secrets or mysteries anymore. Nowhere to hide.
Your world.
I’ve forgotten the reason I was in the
desert that night, probably just because I could be, or there was nothing good
on TV. I think I was searching for something. Maybe the stars, maybe the fear
of dark things. I needed something to replace the emptiness of another night of
worthless anonymity.
That’s when I looked up.
It came in low from the north. I felt
it coming before my eyes caught its shadow against the stars. There was a sort
of vibration that became the sound of rushing wind, then the whoosh and crack
of its great wings striking the air.
When something unbelievable happens,
your brain does strange things. It begins to offer your conscious mind a
variety of explanations; that’s a plane, a glider, a giant bird, a space ship,
a remote controlled dragon, a dragon, not a real dragon, a dragon, A DRAGON!
Adrenaline and wonder and terror rushed
through me like magnetic waves drawn to this incredible thing in the sky. I
could see the shine of the stars off its scales, the wetness of its eyes as it
stared into the distance behind me, the ripple of muscles as it swam through
the currents of desert air. The moment before it passed above me I felt the
heat of it. Then the heat became its scent.
I wish I could describe to you what it
smelled like. I wish there was a comparison so that I could tell you, “Smell
this, it’s the smell of a dragon.” But I can’t. There was so much sensation in
that scent, like joy and freedom. So many flavors, like the ocean and a desert
storm, moss and shadows, a baby’s breath and burning wood. But really it was
like none of those things. It was dragon. I inhaled so deeply I felt faint with
it. Then it was above me, its heart beat was so close that I felt its pulse
through my chest like a drum.
Then it passed. I spun to watch it, but
a moment more and it was gone, drifting away into the dark.
There should have been more. It
happened too quickly. I didn’t see enough, I didn’t feel enough, I didn’t smell
enough, I needed more. It couldn’t be over. That can’t be it.
But that was it. Silence. Nothing more.
My cell phone was still in my pocket.
No video taken of the event. No way to relive it.
Getting home that night was a blur of
stop lights and street lights and startled faces. I called my family, I woke my
neighbors. The sensation I recall most is relief. I knew without a shadow of a
doubt that I had seen a real live dragon. Nothing else would ever be depressing
again. War, murder, extirpation; how utterly insignificant! There were dragons
in the world; everything else would turn out right in the end because now I was
sure that we knew NOTHING. How liberating! Our understanding is not important!
The world is full of magic; no one needs to be afraid of the unknown again.
In the morning my sister came over. I
told her everything, every detail. I wanted to share every feeling I had with
her, I wanted to see the wonder in her eyes.
What I saw was doubt.
I felt I should try harder; I needed her
to feel it, what good was all this joy if I couldn’t share it. I knew she was
trying to believe me, she wanted to, she didn’t think I was lying, but she
couldn’t feel the same rush of certainty that seeing it had given me.
I thought perhaps I should write it
down. I could find the best words to show people that it was the truth. And in
that moment the true gift that came from what I had seen became apparent.
I had experienced something utterly
life changing. Something that changed my whole perception of human existence,
and I wanted to share it.
It still makes me laugh even as I write
this. I was inspired to do what every other religion has done for thousands of
years. What I had always sneered at and mistrusted. I wanted everyone else to
believe what I had seen. I wanted to share the joy of my faith and see it in
the eyes of the people around me. Not to control them as I had always imagined
religion's ulterior motive to be, but to liberate them. No more worthless anonymity,
never be afraid again!
I can imagine what might have happened
in a hundred years. The description of my every move up to the point I saw the
dragon repeated in ceremonies; careful attempts to capture the magic of that
moment. There would be groups of people looking in a certain direction, wearing
certain clothes, perhaps touching their necks and brushing their arms as I had
done.
I know what I saw. I still believe it
was a real dragon, though the scorn of others has stolen some of the joy away.
Now instead of sharing my story as an experience to be believed, I share a small
insight on human nature instead.
When any person truly believes in
something that can’t be proven, they are compelled to share their faith in it.
We want to see our truth in other eyes so that we don’t have to try as hard to
keep it real. When multiplied it becomes big enough to live on its own. We’re
all the same. All of us.
Think about this: What would you do if
you saw a dragon? Would you tell people? How would you feel if those you wished
to share your joy with sneered at you?
We encounter people every day who are
searching for faith. It can be a fragile thing. We are compelled to surround
ourselves with others who believe the same way; it strengthens us. So the next
time someone tries to share their beliefs with you, no matter how bumbling or
defensive their explanation, have patience.
They have seen a dragon.
