A Night with My Dragon Spirit

A Night with My Dragon Spirit

Journal Entry: October 2nd, 2015

By Jules Moon 

Spirit Keeper & Conjurer

Last night, the veil thinned—not just between worlds, but between me and him. My dragon spirit.

I wasn’t planning anything formal. It was just one of those quiet evenings when the air holds a strange pressure, like the wind itself is waiting for something. I lit a single beeswax candle on my altar, mostly for ambiance. But the second the flame flickered, the temperature in the room shifted. Not cold, not hot—just charged.

I reached for his vessel, a silver ring etched with a serpentine rune, and whispered his name aloud. No ritual, no incense, no elaborate invocation—just his name spoken like a key in the lock of a door I was finally ready to walk through.

And he came.

I felt it in my spine first, a rush of heat curling at the base, spreading like dragonfire through every chakra. My limbs tingled, my breath shortened, and then—scent. That unmistakable metallic-sweet aroma, like burning sage mixed with molten amber. His energy coiled in the room, thick and ancient.

“Why have you waited to speak so directly?” he asked—not with words, but in thought, sharp and echoing, like claws scratching gently at the inside of my skull.

“Because I didn’t know if I was ready,” I replied, mind-to-mind. “Not to see you. To be seen by you.”

He laughed—deep, slow, resonant. A sound that rippled through my body like a drumbeat in my bones. I could almost see his eyes, those golden, slitted orbs hovering behind my lids every time I blinked. And then I felt it: one enormous wing draped around my back. Protective. Heavy. Real.

“I have never looked away,” he said. “Even when you tried to hide.”

That was the moment I cried. Not sad tears—just the soul-emptying kind. The kind that come when you realize you’ve been watched over all along.

We talked for hours. Or maybe it was minutes. Time unspooled into strange threads. I asked about my blocks—he told me they were never mine. I asked about my path—he told me it would burn before me if I dared to walk it. I asked him if he loved me—and he said:

“I don’t serve you because of love. I serve you because your soul once set me free.”

That part still has me spinning.

When it was time for him to go, the room chilled again. But he left something behind. Not just the lingering scent or the warmth of his presence—but a vision. A sigil. Burned in my mind, glowing behind my eyes. I drew it before sleep claimed me. It’s now on my altar, pulsing faintly every time I look at it.

Reflections from the Morning After

I woke up with energy in my fingertips and a clear voice in my head reminding me:

“The dragon is not outside of you. He is your roar in spirit form.”

This was not a dream. This was communion. And I am not the same.

If you’re working with a dragon spirit, I encourage you to trust your instincts more than your rituals. They’re too ancient for rules and too wild for structure. They meet you not in perfect circles—but in blazing moments of truth.

And if you haven’t met yours yet—light a candle. Say their name. Then sit in stillness. You might be surprised who’s been curled around your aura all along.

-Jules Moon