ENTERTAINING DEMONS



Saint Anthony Tormented By Demons - Michaelangelo



The Seal:

You had to come and visit when I thought I'd be alright.

Your timing was exquisite with complacency in sight.

You had to make your presence known when I was ill-prepared

For mortal confrontation in my thermal underwear.



You could have circumvented all the milestones on my path

And fed me tea and crumpets in the blissful aftermath.

You could have let me tip toe down the wayward avenue

Believing in immunity to simply misconstrue.



You drop into my contemplations like an honored guest

Savaging my rationale at God knows whose behest.

You drift in uninvited with the dinner on the plate

To watch me choke and grapple with your nuances of fate.



You hold your court at my expense and take me for a fool,

Then shatter my presumptions when I thought I've found the jewel.

You prey upon my weakness and you dance upon my grave.

You're posturing for conqueror when you should be my slave.



I walk into the desert in a state of solitude.

You strike at me with loneliness on quiet interludes.

I wander through the washes ever studying the tracks,

But you and your compatriots won't let up and relax.



I sit beside my campfire as it crackles in the night.

Fueling it with ironwood as stars come into sight.

A chorus of coyotes sweeps along the desert floor,

And just as I go lightly you slip in to slam the door.



My head is filled to bursting with the beauty of it all.

Tecolote has a message in her wistful call.

The stillness is pervasive reaching down into the bone,

But you'll be waiting in the wings lest I be left alone.



My thoughts go drifting in the realm of peaceful and serene.

I hear a voice that harkens from some distant future scene.

Transported and transcended I may ramble on at will

Until you've had enough and come in closer for the kill.



How in bloody hell did you come even to be born?

Where is your projenitor who sprinkled you with scorn?

What dark recess of the mind allowed you all to be,

Torturing your captain out upon a stormy sea?



If I sit in silence by a Palo Verde stand

Focused on the mantra that I have at my command,

Following the Vipassana method of the East,

You'll be there to hound me and to ground me at the least.



When I hike in silence, jay-bird naked in the sun

Totally convinced my Good Red Road has now begun,

Honoring the life-forms and the Elements in turn,

You'll attack my purity of purpose I have learned.



I will lie in darkness by the hour in my van

Hoping that the questioning won't dissipate my plan.

Like a true-born Libra, all is balanced on the scale,

Back and forth and back and forth to mostly no avail.



You come at me from all directions screeching that you know

The underpinning of my faith is just a circus show.

You howl at me from time to time, my journey can't be real,

For who will pay attention to a white-haired desert Seal?



Then you slap me in the face with honesty and truth,

Dredging up the visions of my hate-filled days of youth,

Laughing at my efforts now to turn the other cheek,

And then you cry, "hypocrisy", when I become the meek.



You like the quiet moments when I've let down my defense.

I never hear the end of it when straddling the fence.

All your perturbations leave me lingering in doubt,

And all my best intentions you could wholely do without.



I left the doctor game for more communion with The Lord,

A glimpse of my Divinity, and distance from the horde.

I entered my elysium in Ponderosa Pines,

But you were there to haunt me even through the fog of wine.



How could I survive without an income and a skill?

Who was there to give and share and pay my earthly bills?

How could I denounce the only path I ever knew?

Christ, you hit me endlessly before the bout was through.



Was I going crazy? Could I pass the mental test?

Was it just a passing fancy? Was it all in jest?

How would I get by without at least a safety net?

Ever through the years you never once let me forget.



The jolts of new awareness and the lightning bolt at dawn,

The Vedas and Upanishads while basking on the lawn,

The turning from without and setting course somewhere within,

That was where your opposition had no chance to win.



You emphasized security and money in reserve

When I just wanted happiness and one true way to serve.

You pestered me about my age and lack of future plans,

But I could not look back when I discovered healing hands.



Reminders were relentless as the months gave way to years.

The arguments were lengthy as you played upon my fears.

Regrets, recriminations, and uncertainties were ploys

You wielded with a vengeance that became a raucous noise.



The Demons:

Don't you really think you made a horrible mistake?

Cut the losses, silly boy, and give us all a break.

Do you really think your Guides will guard you and provide?

Just suppose the New Age authors took you for a ride.



How many professionals would choose to be a bum,

Homeless for a nine-year stretch and scrounging for a crumb?

Just how many of your colleagues do you think might choose

The loss of every comfort and the ill-begotten blues?



Look upon your image in the mirror of your choice.

Do you think those worn out eyes can manage to rejoice?

Look at your decrepitude, the muscles atrophied.

Did all those years of rice and beans fulfill the body's need?



The Seal:

You circle and you hover and you pull back and you strike.

You foster my misgivings and my weariness alike.

You interject and self reflect but mostly criticize

My last attempt to be exempt from rotten compromise.



You lash out at my best excuse and snarl if I refrain

From using all the neurons trapped inside my passive brain.

You hold me to account if inconsistency occurs,

Then take me to the woodshed until we can all concur.



I've heard the subtle differences you take in your approach,

From rantings of a tyrant to the pleadings of a coach,

The wisdom of a buddha, the soft bleatings of a lamb,

The mock dismay just yesterday, and I Am That I Am.



I guess we're all stuck with each other this late in the game.

You and your dramatic faces need me just the same.

Show me to your arsenal; what weapons will you choose

To needle and berate, antagonize, and then confuse?



The Demons:

Well, now that we have license to speak freely at long last,

The characters of your creation forged into a cast.

We're more inclined to relevance, sadistically compelled

To shake the whole foundation of the principles you've held.



We'll put it to you bluntly or we'll make it clear as mud,

But how much could we care if it should draw a little blood?

Submit to a jury of your disaffected peers,

But this has been on hold for all too many wasted years.



All we see at this time is a shiftless vagabond

With back turned on the world of flesh to face the Great Beyond,

Living in the wilderness and totally apart

From matters of society and matters of the heart.



Back in eighty seven, how did reason slip away?

You fled the huddled masses and continue to this day.

You hunkered in the mountains getting God and hugging pines,

Raising Kundalini from the bottom of the spine.



Then in ninety one you hear the lonesome whistle call,

Depart the sanctuary with a dearth of wherewithal,

Living in the Thunderbird and sleeping in a tent,

Damned and well determined to be paying no more rent.



What we'd like to know is: did the hair grow on your brain

When you meditated in the winter Cascade rain?

Tell us please, now earnestly, do you think you're all there,

Assuming that there is a there, there in your lonely lair?



Let's see if we can get this straight; you grovel to survive?

Petty cash and peanuts for the wage at fifty five?

No savings, no portfolio, no pension up ahead?

You'll gamble on this moment in eternity instead?



Now we'll take your comments on the celibate routine,

The fifteen years since your last date and all the time between.

Spare us all the piety behind this masquerade.

Can't you see the fallacy while playing this charade?



Your van is aging rapidly and soon may bite the dust.

Pardon our sarcasm but its happy trails or bust.

Then you'll walk the streets of sadness, poverty, and drugs

Looking to your backside amongst hustlers, punks, and thugs.



Nearly at two hundred thou, just anything could go,

Head gasket or a timing chain, the whole pathetic show.

You carry no insurance nor the plastic up the sleeve.

With cash reserves so laughable, you'll beg for a reprieve.



You nonchalantly take the most remote trails in the West.

You fancy some protective field and fancy you are blessed,

Runnin' bare-ass naked with the snakes and horney toads

Fifty miles from nowhere down some long abandoned road.



The tires may lack in rubber what the driver lacks in sense.

We've knuckled on the outside but the skull was much too dense.

You hang out with the ocotillo, rocks, and creosote.

Prosperity is casting off but you have missed the boat.



You claim the Devas for your friends, the Spirits of the Earth.

Get a good grip on yourself for what it may be worth.

You think that your encounters with the diamondback are planned,

And crawl upon your knees to follow insects on the sand.



Let's see if we have got it right; you've fled the deranged minds,

The money-sucking, selfish bulk of sorry Humankind

To move along the fringes like a shadow on the wall

And make the best of Mother Nature just before the Fall?



You presuppose you're on a mission granted from On High

And look for Silver Platters in each dawning eastern sky.

You want us to believe that like Diogenes of lore

You stumble with the lighted lamp for truth among the poor.



Well, take this truth and run with it; your days are getting short.

The market for your labor is receding fast, ol' sport.

When the time comes drawing nigh, just who is gonna hire

The prophet of a Golden Age arisen in the Fire?



Let's get down to the nitty gritty of this ugly mess,

No savings, no inheritance, no phone, and no address.

No spouse and no companion, no career, no pot of gold.

At the crisis juncture you will be out in the cold.



And then you pass this drivel off as poetry and such

Hoping that the rhythmic nature won't be seen a crutch,

Straining every single line while making the pretense

Of drawing inspiration, but it will never commence.



Give us some more rounds; the target's filling up with holes.

He's made it much too easy to be raked over the coals.

We'd fire the fatal broadside but are taken with the game.

Before the chump can rest we want acknowledgement of shame.



You've squandered your resources, pissed your talents in the wind.

But we see only bitterness before the lonely end.

You need a smack upside the head, a boot right on the butt.

Physician heal thyself before your Heaven's Gate is shut.



You burned the only bridge that might have saved a full retreat.

Your victories of conscience were at best too bittersweet.

You harkened to the Noble Truths but fell into the trap

Of giving so much precious time to unimportant crap.



You disregarded our advice to reassess the odds

Of slipping through the minefield of the pantheon of gods.

You studied with intensity the scriptures of the past,

Knowledge for the dreary sake of getting it amassed.



Your shifting paradigm would put us all on the alert

For naive suppositions which might be hard to revert.

You took the golden goose that laid the golden egg for you,

Plucked out all its feathers and made give-a-rat's-ass stew.



You had it at your fingertips and let it slip away,

Retirement in Fat City by the Chosen People Bay.

We hope you're satisfied with nada, for that's what you get,

And don't blame us for second thoughts and Oh My God regrets.



You claim to be so sensitive with heart worn on the sleeve,

Having lost a childhood which you forgot to grieve,

But we think there's a cynic underneath the outer shell,

Hard as nails and following the highway into hell.



Why don't you get with it, son, and fish or cut the bait?

Just how many decades do you plan to sit and wait,

Observing from a distance as the living carry on,

Loath to dirty up the hands before the Brand New Dawn?



When you gaze at your reflection, who's there looking back?

You lost your sense of all direction in the mountain shack.

Which way does the dusty path lead, misery or bliss?

And will your pantomime existence be a hit or miss?



If you ever wake up from this god-forsaken dream

And condescend to recognize your choice for the extreme,

Will you see the folly and get back into the race,

And will it be redemption or the censure of disgrace?



You've had it with the left brain and are aiming for the right.

You monkey with the monkey mind completely out of spite.

You enter into thoughtlessness to become more aware.

We've noted the dichotomy but who is there to care?



We're taking you to task for leaping from the mainstream flow,

Abandoning the project with a million seeds to sow,

Turning from the ignorant who hunger for the Light,

Climbing from the ring before the first round of the fight.



You'll listen and you'll listen well, deserter of the Cause.

The Mission of The Brotherhood has no time for a pause.

The numbers in the Harvest will be such a very few.

The Galaxy awaits but your involvement may be through.



Get up off the supine and get back into the fray.

Send the healing out into a species gone astray.

Overlook the wars and strifes and bigotry and hate,

The greed and lust for violence and the damned depressing state.



We've likely said enough to move a much-deluded dupe.

Ten years of the ludicrous, but there's time to regroup.

Get the brains back into gear or even overdrive.

Show us that the hermit of the cave is still alive.



The Seal:

Ahem, and then ahem, ahem, a swallow and a sigh.

Jesus, what was all of that, and furthermore just why?

Nasty little bastards when you let them in the door,

But they've been gaining strength in numbers, oh, since forty four.



The prosecutors made a pretty devastating case.

I wonder if it's possible to salvage any face.

Rather than a defense to the charges stated here,

I'll be finding solace in a thirty two ounce beer.



Okay, where do I begin to climb out of the hole

That was blasted from my ground when targeting my soul?

I'll give the devils leeway and the benefit of doubt,

But I don't think they really know what Seal is all about.



It started with a whimsy and it burst out of control.

The Light came flooding in and I had virtues to extol.

The mountains were symbolic for a much more lofty place,

And I had come there sickened from the valley's endless race.



It seemed like happenstance but it was synchronicity.

There were forces operating which I could not see.

Nestled in grandfather pines, the dogwood, and the oak.

Devas in the sanctuary which I would invoke.



I loosed the chains that bound me to the Seal and to the doc.

I tossed the bygone days out with the calendar and clock.

I forged a new alliance with the Greater Part of me.

I soothed the beast of lusting and I calmed the stormy sea.



Somewhere there was transformation, somewhere change of heart.

Somewhere on the mountain trail an upset apple cart.

I made a special effort on the discipline of mind.

I flung youthful indiscretions and bad blood behind.



I don't really know what happened up there in the trees,

But I would never be the same and never could appease

The gnawing at the insides for the teachings long concealed

And for the troubled billions of this small rock to be healed.



I could gain delight in the woodpecker and the mouse.

I could feel contentment in the little trailer house.

I could spend the hours with the poppy and scotch broom.

Nature Spirits jumped for joy and I could be their groom.



Rain fell by the buckets on the winter western slope.

Through Master revelations I would skim and pore and grope.

Hilarion, Kuthumi, Saint Germain, The Lofty Ones,

Keepers of the Flame and Emissaries of The Sun.



The gifts of The Tibetan were unspeakably profound.

I searched for mere comparisons but found no common ground.

Mahatmas of the Himavat sent gems into the West,

Awakening the slumberers before the coming Test.



I wrestled with the ego and I took it to the mat.

It had to be out of the way to claim that I Am That.

I jumped into the Violet Flame and never did emerge,

Knowing that the sweeping change was on the very verge.



For years the studies took me to the stratospheric clouds,

Missing not the false perceptions nor the rushing crowds.

The more I came to learn the more I knew I didn't know,

Huddled by the wood-fire in the February snow.



Material possessions lost their glamour and appeal.

Borderlines were blurred between illusion and the Real.

I had a hundred teachers and a thousand helping hands.

I plowed into the thick of it with no pretense of plans.



The process pulled me in and I just hung on for the ride.

It felt just like my former self had crossed the Great Divide.

Even when I tried I could not think or feel the same,

But all my trepidations were consumed within the Flame.



With Kundalini happenings and chakras spinning wild,

The Silver Cord was humming and I felt just like a child.

I still don't know what I'm to be when I grow up some day.

Maybe by two hundred I might ease back on the play.



If I half believed the propoganda of the fools,

My head would still be in the sand of unenlightened rules.

I gaze in pure perplexity at all the stress and strife,

The hurry and the worry and the suffering for life.



I'll go with my option for the unencumbered dance,

Though some would still believe that I've not come out of my trance.

I'll be out here with the little critters of the Earth,

Merging with Creation while the Mother's giving birth.



There won't be a backward glance to see who's gaining ground.

There won't be a moment's grief for millions who have drowned.

When the Earth is reeling and It seems out of control,

I'll look for Arcturus to align the Northern Pole.



Give me quiet walks along an Arizona draw.

Give me temple teachings of the Universal Law.

Give me sun-drenched hours by a laughing mountain stream.

Give me sessions on the Ray of Wisdom when I dream.



Give me yellow roses that are opening with joy.

Give me fifty years or more to put away the toys.

Give me brother wolf in Summer singing to the moon.

Give me alpine meadows in the blessed month of June.



Give me space to look out and see not another soul.

Give me grace to recognize the mission and the goal.

Give me leave to partake of the harvest of the vine.

Give me months of solitude among the praying pine.



Finally, just give to me a world with no more pain,

No more deadly weapons, no more leadership insane,

No more lines of separation, no more need for oil,

No have nots, no sick and starving, no more brain-dead toil.



If I hadn't dropped out I might never would have viewed

The moon on Lago Atitlan in raptured solitude,

A white deer in the foothills that would hold my steady gaze,

Sunsets in the low Sonora with the sky ablaze.



If I hadn't chosen to drop from the radar screen,

Shackles of repugnant values would have been the scene.

I might have missed the butterfly that landed on my skin

Or signals from the Stage Director beckoning within.



When I veered off course to take the permanent detour,

Rising out of darkness was the definite allure.

Creature comforts took a back seat on the drop-out trail,

And Lady Luck stood by me nearly always without fail.



Kuthumi of The Brotherhood took charge of everything,

Held me to a high account and held me under wing.

I was given blessings that I hardly could believe,

Infusions of the Second Ray to help me to achieve.



Portions of the Plan were filtered to me by and by.

The Youth of Endless Summers watched with all-embracing Eye.

I visited Shamballa in the quiet of the night,

Learning with the others of the coming phoenix flight.



The Seventh Golden Age was knocking loudly at the door.

Walls of oceanic waters raced toward the shores.

The planet reconfigured all the clashing crustal plates.

Billions made their exit fleeing past the Pearly Gates.



The galaxy had waited for the only laggard ones

To shift into a Higher Level with The Central Sun.

The Brothers of the Left Hand Path who fashioned all the fears

Were given marching orders to inhabit other spheres.



The peaceful and the meek remained, the humble one percent,

The orbit and the axis rearranged in the Event.

Communities of Light were scattered all around the globe.

Adepts reappeared, The Order of the Golden Robe.



The Master of The Masters came as prophets had foretold,

Emanating from the Heart pulsations of pure gold,

Anchoring compassion on the Earth for Humankind,

Consecrating temples, giving vision to the blind.



Past the year, two thousand twelve, completion of the Deal.

Famine, wars, and pestilence before the Seventh Seal.

Land masses inundated while some ancient ones were raised.

Chaos, pandemonium, to mark the Latter Days.



A Harvest fetched with inconvenience, so The Great One said.

Majority of actors out of costume but none dead.

Pockets of sweet harmony secured from all the strife.

Atmosphere obscured by the volcanoes come to life.



When the dust was settled and the Axis realigned,

The Silent Watcher of the World would issue forth a sign.

Cities nought but rubble and all industry erased.

Assistance from the Motherships that travel time and space.



Pisces had been gutted, skinned, and served up for the feast.

The Solar Logos would no longer rise up from the east.

The children of the Law of One knew freedom from the lies

And loved without conditions to the galaxy's surprise.



Peoples of the Inner Earth came forth to lend a hand.

Pristine were the new conditions of the sea and land.

Centered in the Anahata and the Higher Mind,

Lessons of Fourth Density for all of Humankind.



Initiation was the Path that most would come to tread,

Taught by Masters in the temples to which they'd been led.

Created by Sanat Kumara as the safest route

To Realize the Self and come to harvest all the fruit.



The Tribulation separated chaff from golden wheat.

Gone were those who raped the planet; gone were the elite.

Gone obsession for consumption, gone the currencies,

Gone all sources of pollution, gone blood-letting sprees.



While the vast majority had not a single clue,

I was given this to know, convinced that it was true.

While the masses played at games of ownership and war,

I saw past the puppet-show to know what lay in store.



How could I continue on the roadway of the blind?

How could I repress the revelations in my mind?

How could I stay on a course devised by the deranged?

How could I make pretenses that nothing would be changed?



I sought some discerning ones to sound the wake-up call.

Most had programmed neurocircuits that erected walls.

In my travels I would let the juicy details slip,

The ammunition spent in waste while firing from the hip.



No one cared to listen to a drop-out, dead-beat bum

Who looked like twenty years of destitution in a slum.

I noticed condescending smiles and all too vacant stares.

I reconciled my impulses to shake the unaware.



All that notwithstanding, the adventure doth prevail.

I think I got the snarling hellhound off my homebound trail.

Listen for my message in a twilight summer breeze.

I'll be bent with gratitude and down upon my knees.



I guess I'll be found among the innocents at play.

I guess there will come a time to say what I can say.

I guess there is nothing but perfection after all.

I guess I'll be tempted when I hear the wild goose call.



Give me bouts of belly laughs that finish up with tears.

Give me joy amidst a world of suffering and fears.

Give me opportunities to comfort and to give.

Redirect these hands to healing as long as I live.



I'll be out here in rapport with all the winged ones,

And I won't have my final rest until the Deal is done.

For appearance sake I'll be the loony on the run.

LOVE is why I've come here as a grandson of The Sun.



James Oliver Cyr, M.D.
                (The Seal)


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