The Dragon Slayers
Philosophical Vignettes
The sage and pupil made their way
Along a snowy promontory.
With jagged ridges far below,
Stern crests and cornices above,
They trekked towards the dragon’s grot,
Which lay among the snowy crags.
But as they neared the creature’s den,
The boy began voicing his doubts.
“The people said that dragons are
Impossible to catch or slay.
“They said that they’re too quick—too lithe—
Too wise and powerful for men.”
The sage stood still, garbed in white robes,
“One truth can slay a thousand lies,”
The master said, “A thousand lies
Can’t kill even a single truth.”
The young boy listened as he watched
The dance of wraith-like mists snaking
Their way around each wintry crest,
Steep peak, and snowy precipice.
But led by sounds of dragon breath,
They trekked until they found the cave.
Each breath the dragon took rumbled
Like thunderstorms in autumn skies.
The mountains quaked, the summits shook;
Each stream and cold ravine trembled.
But breath by breath, they found the den:
The dragon lay there fast asleep.
Curled up and deeply slumbering,
The travelers admired the beast.
Coated with scales of emerald green,
Its belly rose and shrunk with every breath.
“Now, slay it while you can,” the sage
Commanded the hesitant boy.
The boy then quickly drew his sword
And sunk it in the creature’s heart.
Suddenly, with a burst of life,
It rose and roared with dark red eyes.
But then, like some felled ancient oak,
It crashed lifelessly to the ground.
Stunned by his own success, the boy
Looked to the sage, surprised, but scared.
“Remember,” said the sage, “The real
Thing is never as scary as
“The thought of the real thing.” They gazed
Upon the slain mythical beast.
David B. Gosselin is a poet, translator, writer, and researcher based in Montreal. He is the founder of The Chained Muse and hosts Escaping the Brave New World.
I grew up in Montreal and have lived in many cultures.
Yesterday I went to barber in Coaticook. I still call them barbers but the beautiful women who cut my hair needed an understanding of what I wanted.
In Quebec I am labelled autistic. What that means I need someone more sagacious than myself to explain. I was there with my wife is a doctor of Philosophy and as sagacious as they come.
My wife comes from a tradition of scholars and I come from a tradition of survival.
My father was a poet and philosopher who toiled at a machine and my mother learned stoicism very early because some people have stoicism thrust upon them.
I do not believe in sages. There are 8 billion sages in this world and I am the only one I need to understand. I speak to everyone the same with the same respect. One of the problems with sages is their assuming what a sage looks like.
Sometimes a sage looks like a barber and sometimes a sage looks like a Buddhist monk. I grew up in a city where sages lived in mansions with servants and I lived in a village where the sage lived in a shack with his wife and only a stove and blankets on the floor to keep them warm in the winter. The sage chose to live that way; his words and deeds commanded a very wealthy village and he was old but vigourous and the Seniors home was the center of the village but he was the chief of chiefs..
I belong to the Thomas Institute of Montreal. It is a liberal arts institution devoted to life long learning. The Thomas More Society is a society of "conservative" America Legal Sophists devoted to life long ignorance. One man's Utopia is not everyone's Utopia.
To make a long story less long. It was wonderful to that I need to get out of my cave for a moment and look like a business man more than a crazy old philosopher I needed to talk to fools for a few months.
As I watch them trim my hoary locks I understood why my father pitied our local sages they were fools dressed up as philosophers.
I don't know what to say in a world where sages are mad, mean and selfish fools are seen as philosophers.
As I watched the Papal Visit I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. As Irving of Montreal once said. What power hath ignorance that makes your possessor seem so strong/
As I watched the people gather before the Pope I remember all the faces I once knew and Remembered Layton's For My Brother Jesus I keep it close at hand by the computer.
They say Don Quixote is the only novel ever written it is with the understanding that the only thing we need to fear is the face in the mirror dragons are an awesome foe.
It has been a great trip . i learned to love dragons and embrace them. They are brilliant and comedic.
Outstanding and so full of ancient truths. Shared.