Made of Dragon Blood
Swish-swash goes the sound of the leaves as my boots brush them on an unmarked path. As I walk through a forest late one Sunday afternoon, my eyes dance along the sun-speckled trees as I rejoice in how wonderful it is to be here. I am back, and I am me. That is all I really need. How wonderful it is to feel at home within yourself.
What brought me here is a story in itself. I am not one to fable, so I will tell you the truth. As I write these words, three small spots lie on my right ankle, painted in dragon blood, symbols from the day before. These open wounds were made on my skin to administer an ancient medicine into my body. Originating from a native Yemen tree, the dragon blood was placed on these wounds to protect me as I heal. If you saw them now you might think they were a tattoo, but unlike a tattoo these markings will fade. I was sitting across from a healer in her wide-open room, surrounded by artwork, healing energy tools, and the nourishing smell of sage in the air. We warmly discussed our soon-to-be shared experience; her as the practitioner, and I as the receiver. This would be my first ceremony of this kind, and I knew it would not be my last. Staring at the opposing wall with long, heavy breaths, I sat with my legs crossed, a bucket between my hands. There are few places where I’ve felt at home, like this. For as long as this lasts, I will stay and breathe. What brought me here was a desire to release tension; waiting, festering, rising to the surface in response to life’s ebbs and flows. In the face of stress, it’s the way my body aches; tightens, tingles, numbs, attempting to cope, that concerns me the most. When it reaches past my threshold, and ignoring it is no longer possible, I wonder, Will I ever be able to let this all go? |
ALEXANDRA MIREANU self-published Letters to Myself in 2021, encompassing a young woman’s journey through love and loss. Today, she is writing her memoir-in-pieces and expanding her consultancy to guide young writers through manuscript editing and self-publishing, all while studying Creative Writing at the University of Toronto.
To learn more about her, visit her linktr.ee. |
That day I knew the bucket between my hands wouldn’t shake. I was grounded in my breath, acutely aware of the life force running through my veins. Focusing on the breath does this. It reignites awareness within. To imagine a moment of comparable magnitude, imagine you are alone on a volcano’s slope. The air is crisp and filled with fog. You’re standing where the clouds meet, and as you walk through them they seem to disappear, then reappear, around you. You can never see the cloud you are in. Below, your feet crush lava rock with each step, reaching as far as your eyes can see. You hear only the sounds of air; your breath and the wind, and you become deeply aware that you are alone. Nothing grows here, nor loneliness nor life. Instead there exists a tranquility unmatched by any other landscape you’ve seen. Fear and anticipation of the unknown dissipate as your instincts return to inform you; nothing is going to come. It is only you, the rocks and the sky.
I was now in a vastly different place, in time and space. The earth still turns here, and the sky's still blue. The sun rose that morning too. Purple cushions rested on the floor, inviting me to sit and stay a while. I was struck with surprise by the strength of my tears here. Each time I tried to speak, to explain why I was outpouring such emotion, my tears demanded to be felt. It seemed they wouldn’t stop until all the pain poured out.
I remember feeling immense gratitude for the healer’s grace. She continued to hold space for me, as my emotions came and went throughout the opening ceremony. Tribal music surrounded me as sage burned in the air. By the feathers in her hand, she whisked and engulfed me in her smoke. From head to toe, I felt unconditionally loved.
A serene peace and calm washed over me. Then, hearing an echo I longed to hear, These emotions are just passing through. There is nothing to be afraid of. You are, after all, made of dragon blood.
I was now in a vastly different place, in time and space. The earth still turns here, and the sky's still blue. The sun rose that morning too. Purple cushions rested on the floor, inviting me to sit and stay a while. I was struck with surprise by the strength of my tears here. Each time I tried to speak, to explain why I was outpouring such emotion, my tears demanded to be felt. It seemed they wouldn’t stop until all the pain poured out.
I remember feeling immense gratitude for the healer’s grace. She continued to hold space for me, as my emotions came and went throughout the opening ceremony. Tribal music surrounded me as sage burned in the air. By the feathers in her hand, she whisked and engulfed me in her smoke. From head to toe, I felt unconditionally loved.
A serene peace and calm washed over me. Then, hearing an echo I longed to hear, These emotions are just passing through. There is nothing to be afraid of. You are, after all, made of dragon blood.