Early last year, while sitting in a dim lit theater waiting to see a film on the Kumbh Mela ritual - a friend asked if I was still “battling my demons”.
As this was someone I’m extremely enamored and inspired by – I gave the glib
response “Hell, I’ve just accepted their presence and welcomed them in”.
A truth in itself – but an easier lie than the greater truth of fear and disillusion.
As words can cast fate – it seems I initiated an open-door policy for dark shadows.
It’s been a year of hauntings, this past.
But lately – things seem to be culminating towards that zero point.
A reckoning is at hand.
Partly drug-induced – and part hereditary schizoid parable-unfold – it seems the communion has commenced.
Light flashes glimpsed through peripheries.
Shadows dash in fast passing.
Busy meddling mind parasites.
They whistle while they work . . . (demonsong or symptomatic tinnitus?)
I’m alert to their presence.
I know what draws them out.
I know what riles them up.
They are not me – but of me – and that skewed dharma-self.
Banishment is in order. Their effective usefulness worn.
All the while . . .
the prosperity of career
the commitment to academia
are conspiring to evolve.
Sabbatical. The deconstructionist holiday.
I, the ringleader.
No three-ring circus for trinity seekers.
My ring concentric – infinite.