No Promises

What if the Grail is a wholly euphemistic search for an enlightening, an opening of heart and mind and eyes that allow the elusive to become visible?

What if the dragon is really a heart, flying into the light, demanding traditional, hard and fast satisfaction; flaming in the heat of passion, searing when thwarted or enraged, tender and quivering with its feelings all over?

The Grail becomes the lance that severs the dragon from its beloved. Not because the dragon is a myth, or some sort of evil creature, but because it is simply more ephemeral than we would like to believe.

The dragon shrivels up and dies from blindness if it cannot comprehend the complexities of its lover’s vision. Starved by the immense spaces between it and what feeds its soul, it wanders lonely through the world until finally fading away in a cave created out of the darkness it pulls around itself in fear.

Love is still the ultimate quest, but whether it is the hero’s, or the fool’s, is not so simple as the morality tales of the past. This life holds no promises that we will live happily ever after, or that the Grail, when found, can be comprehended. It does not say that all the dragons will die, or be saved, or tamed, or do anything at all.

The real tales are still told one story at a time and whether we ride the white horse, or fly upon fire breathing wings depends solely upon us.