"Chief Dragonfly Rider"

The next several weeks as we deal with the heat, Mercury and several other planets in powerful retrograde, plus a hefty sprinkling of solar flares and all that goes with it, let us remember that magic still exists and even abounds around us . . . maybe even more so . . .

As I was updating my Facebook status last week, I arrived at the title name for my status in my business. My fingers hung over the keyboard to whisk out the blah-boring status of "owner" and I just couldn't do it. Then I was reminded of a colleague who calls her title that of "Wearer of Many Hats." I'm not sure I want to manifest more of my own multiple hat wearing, but the truth of my title had me thinking, especially since Spirit has been sending repeated messages to me and some of my clients about "your persona might not be what you think it is." Spirit's messages had some of us considering life stripped of our current persona.

I momentarily sat there at the keyboard . . . "who am I? Who am I really? Who do I really want to be?" Then it hit me. This is not an old 3D linear question trying to fit me in a traditional, parochial, certified box. No. This is a figurative question, branching me out into new realms. Somehow, the synapses tripped through in my brain along a new circuit and I reveled in the idea that I just might be a Chief Dragonfly Rider. That, ladies and gentleman, is something I can definitely aspire to this lifetime after all the skin shucking. I typed it in "Chief Dragonfly Rider" and saved it before I gave myself a chance to think about it as something silly. No, this was bold -- something to be proud of. What adult arrives into the prime of their life and aspires to ride the dragonflies? Me! Even though I had shivers of "be careful what you name yourself," I also felt a wonder of excitement imagining riding the back of this ancient insect, zipping in and out of natural worlds, over waters, through grasses, abruptly turning and shifting in the sunlight. (Watch the dynamic sketch of an image posted at: http://sketchfu.com/drawing/131851-dragonfly-rider).

And then a memory rolled through me like a movie and took me back to this scene:

It was summer of 2006 and I had left my job at the independent insurance agency to prepare the paperwork for my divorce trial. My life hung in precarious limbo as I trusted Spirit in making this preposterous leap. It was the middle of a hot summer afternoon, similar to the heat we're experiencing in the nation now. My window air conditioner was working overtime as I sat ticky-tappy typing at my computer in shorts and a t-shirt.

For some unapparent reason, I decided to check out the upper level of my apartment window down into the parking lot. The surprise I saw didn't register at first, but then shocked me: There was a tow truck man turning a lever to begin hoisting my late 1980's white station wagon Subaru onto it's truck bed. I didn't stop to put shoes on, dashed out the door and down the steps, barefoot onto blasting hot asphalt. The heat met me full on as I assimilated the situation before me. One man in office clothing was speaking to the tow-truck operator as I approached. As calmly as I could, I asked what they were doing hoisting my vehicle onto the truck bed.

The man in office clothing turned and introduced himself as the apartment complex manager. When he told me his name, all I registered was that his last name sounded a lot like Rumplestiltskin and his nature reminded me predominately of a castle gatekeeper taking care of the king's business at the castle moat in ancient times. Somehow, I was no longer in the version of 2006Fort Collins,Coloradowearing summer clothing and my Subaru was no longer being hoisted onto the tow truck flatbed. No. I was in ancientEngland, standing there in peasant clothing, the green rolling hills around me, appealing to the gatekeeper of the castle as the trestle was cranked up and down over the moat.

As the office manager of the apartment complex explained the situation -- that that the tags on my Subaru had expired and the vehicle had been sitting in the parking lot too long -- thus the tow job; I hung in limbo between the centuries trying to decide who he really was (gatekeeper or office complex manager), who I really was (peasant or tenant) and whether we were talking about my vehicle or the trestle over the moat. I'm sure he thought the angst on my face was about my vehicle, and it was, but the angst on my face was also trying to figure out which century we were playing out this scene in.

When I finally came to my senses, I agreed it was true that I was now driving my red Chevy truck and I had let my Subaru sit dormant for too long without attending to the red tape of the apartment complex and the city. Out of nostalgia I had not been able to let my Subaru go. I knew the tow truck incident was my message from the universe to do so. Fortunately, the apartment complex manager was kind and worked with me, letting the Subaru drop down off the tow truck. In relief, I felt the trestle drop back onto the moat for crossing. Time picked up and continued to flow again in 2006 and I returned to the cool of my apartment, relieved. A week later I relinquished the vehicle to a program giving automobiles to people in need of wheels.

But the incident made me think long and hard about the people who rotate into and out of our lives. What lifetimes are they coming from and going to? How are their names harbingers of the past dramas we have played out and continue to play out until they come into some kind of balance? Are they really modern apartment complex managers, bank tellers and guest clerks or are they ancient castle gatekeepers, the king's tithing agent or the bawdy woman at the inn during Shakespeare's time? Are they really bull riders in the National Pro Rodeo, stock market traders at the New York Stock Exchange, or political strategists on the presidential campaign trail OR are they dragon fighters from King Arthur's court, traders of shillings or pesos in the street as they cry their wares at market, or the kings advisors and advocates in the chess play of royal court?

Who are we really? Are we here and now unfolding our lives, or are we the pawns of time and karma bleeding through our cellular memory, waltzing in and out of the unfinished moldings from other eras with other names, other personas melding through. Is the dye cast in one certain direction until we finish our unfinishables and suddenly launch ourselves to entire other soul levels, entire other light blueprints, entire other castings that we never imagined? Who are we really?

As a fun side note, since I recently posted my new moniker of Chief Dragonfly Rider, I have had several clients coming into session saying to me, "Oh oh oh oh, Dana. Before the session today, this amazing dragonfly came to me!" Here is one woman's account: "Something very funny happened this morning and I just wanted to share it with you. As I was leaving for an appointment, I got in my car and A 'DRAGONFLY' flew onto my windshield and refused to leave! It stayed on the car as I drove down the road. Then, when I stopped for lunch across town ANOTHER 'Dragonfly' kept swarming around and circling the car! Now the funny part is that we rarely see dragonflies here and especially not much in the city. I thought it must be you preparing for our session tonight!"

Then, just today, a woman and her son had an experience with a gigantic blue dragonfly flying around in the son's bedroom several hours prior to our session.

So, I tell you, I always thought I was this generation's keeper of the crucifixion cycle in my family, proudly carrying the cross of the phoenix and the peacock, perpetually burning into ashes and rising again. But as it turns out, I just might be a Chief Dragonfly Rider, sailing on the iridescent blue body of a gigantic dragonfly as it zooms in and out of the dimensions, in and out of lightness and dark, over the waters, breathing through the veils like a queen fairy on glittering gossamer wings.

If the magic of all things are possible as to who we are . . .
and if it is so that in this magic I'm a Chief Dragonfly Rider. . .
who, then, are you?

What is your magic?