Magic abounds where I grew up.
I grew up in a small peninsula in Normandy (France) named Le Contentin.
My parents moved there when I was 4 years old. I remember a cold dark place with gushing winds. I remember laying awake in my bed at night praying for the winds to stop so I could catch some sleep. I remember the anger of the sea with her waves battering the coast like she was demanding we expiate our sins. I remember praying that her waters would never reach our house, that was so close to the beach. I remember the grumpy taciturn villagers we met, who didn’t like strangers, nor tourists; and therefore they didn’t like us, us who were coming from sunny Provence. I remember a depressing cold place.
But I also remember Magic.
My little brother, little sister and I, we had, across the street, a beautiful long sandy beach leading to a little mount, Mount Saint Pierre, with high cliffs of Devonian black shales.
At this point in time, there were no tourists in the region and the locals hadn’t take the habit to stroll the beach for leisure. So my siblings and I were truly alone in this vast playground. I was feeling like the beach belonged to us. I felt safe and happy there and it’s one of my fondest childhood memories.
One of our game was to go to the foot of the mount where the black shales were and we would pretend that this place was our house. Over there was the kitchen. We would cook soup in the little aquarium other here and we would spray water on each other, etc … It was very fun. It was one of the rare game we could play altogether due to our age differences.
One day, looking at the little ones playing, my mind drifted:
“Is this a portal over there?”
Something in between the stones had attracted my attention.
“Where is this portal going again?”, I searched my mind.
“To the Dragon’s lair!”, a reply appeared in my head. “It goes into another dimension and it leads to the Dragon’s lair.”
“The Dragon? The one that lives in the hill just above us?”
I looked up at the tranquil Mount Saint Pierre. I always thought it looked like a sleeping Dragon.
“Maybe we are disturbing him with our games? We are being very loud. What if he wakes up? Is it safe for my sister and brother to be so close to a Dragon’s lair?”
“Little children don’t bother me. Your games don’t bother me. I am more concerned with the acts of Men. I am guarding and I am very concerned.”, I heard in my head.
Reassured, I reported my attention to my siblings.
The magical moment had passed.
“I have a vivid imagination”, I thought and went back to play with the kids.
I didn’t think about the Dragon anymore, until …
Years later, during a conversation with my mom, I learnt that a Dragon had been imprisoned in the Trou de Baligan, a grotto in the granite cliff, nearby, in Flamanville, the next village after Mount Saint Pierre.
The various legends differ but the story goes more or less like this:
One day during the fifth century a Dragon decided to move on the coast and choose for his lair the grotto named Trou de Baligan. He started to roam the villages around in search for little children for diner. Finally desperate, the villagers went to plead with the Dragon: instead of him hunting everyday, they would deliver a child chosen by chance only once a week. The bargain lasted for a while until around 448 A.D., Saint Germanus the Scot, the bishop from Auxerre, who was busy christianising what would be later known as Scotland, decided to travel back to France to visit his mentor.
Because he couldn’t find a boat, he prayed God for help and God provided him with a miraculous cartwheel with which he crossed the English channel. Gliding on the sea, he arrived on the beach where a child was being delivered to the Dragon. Seeing this, Saint Germanus walked up right to the Dragon, gave him a kick of his staff, and the Dragon wriggled back in pain to the grotto from which he came from, and never came out again. The beach was renamed Diélette (dies lœta, happy day in latin), and it is now the name of the modern marina in Flamanville.
And the legend says that if you stand on the beach at the proper time (and the proper tide), you can hear him lament from inside the pit.
Or so you could, if the French government hadn’t blown up the grotto to make way for the foundation of the nuclear plant of Flamanville in 1977.
“Cool story”, I thought, “but it’s not like the Dragon was set free and is roaming the corridors of the nuclear plant. After all, the image of the Saint slaying the Dragon is a representation of Christianity winning over the pre-existing pagan religions. They are thousands of these legends in France and elsewhere.”
Or so I thought until …
Until one day, my parents got a new neighbour.
This lady, who was extremely clairvoyant, could see and hear things from far beyond. I think she was not really from this world. She had come to our little village of Cotentin, sent by God, to do some healing in the region: the water, the trees, etc.
And she also heard the legend from my mother’s mouth. And she was not amused. And so one afternoon, she climbed the mount to speak to the Dragon. Later that day, my mom got an intuition to go look for her. She found the poor lady limping on the beach and helped her get home. She wouldn’t say how she got the accident. But later, she told my mom that the Dragon is still there, inside the nuclear power plant, wandering around, looking at the place. Apparently, at the moment he is very quiet and just observes but if one day men do something that he doesn’t like he could destroy everything in milliseconds.
I don’t know what to think of this story. But you have to know that in 2008, the French government decided to expand the power plant and to build a new nuclear reactor, more powerful than the two precedents. The project is constantly delayed, numerous accidents of personnel occurred, the nuclear regulator agency detected several anomalies.
I don’t know what the Dragon has to say about this but many people are protesting for a switch to more ecological alternatives and for a complete stop of the construction …
The giant structures are now deforming the view from the beloved, magical beach of my childhood.
But since then, I have been interested in Dragons.
They seemed to be like the guardians of the Earth. They would like to guide us to co-create a new way of living harmoniously with nature and the Earth. They belong to the Elemental kingdom and may have helped created the Earth energetic structures since Lemuria.
They seem to want to make a come back in our life at this time. Read: The Return of the Christed Dragons by Tim Whild at
I have read books by Diana Cooper but I have not taken this class, however if you are interested here is the link:
I will finish this post by saying that I also learnt that some Dragons are incarnated here on Earth, like are incarnated Fairies and Mermaids; and I should have known since I grew up with one in my house. 😉 A story for another day.
Sending you Love and Light,
PS: I love the region where I grew up and if you want to visit here is the link:
PPS: If this story resonated with you, leave a comment below. I would love to hear your stories.