Two birds of prey… are hitched to my buggy,
One white, one black,
The white one represents the love that surrounds,
The black one, the murkiness that diminishes me, that draws me into the illusion…,
They’re forever in a contest for my allegiance,
Damn them, for in their own way, they both prey on me…


The mist begins to fade along with the cobwebs of the last dream…,
Awareness slowly returns to the Seeker-as the Seer[used in the sense of a person who sees; an observer] reluctantly recedes…,
Proneness, stiffness, blandness envelop the Seeker for the umpteenth time as he perceives the circling grayness drawing nigh…,
He is once again astonied at the bull-dog tenacity of the demon of mediocrity, and how it never gives up its dark struggle for possession…,
Resolutely, the Seeker summons the Seer and surrenders the seeking, he knows from ample experience that seeking is a futile cause, and that the only way to reality is to move to the seeing, on the way to life, the ultimate “illusory-reality”…,
He knows this academically, with only the odd scarce and sporadic epiphany here and there…,
The battle between demon and Seer, however, is easily won, the product of decades of practice, the demon ignominiously skulks away…


The Seer now starts courting love, the only lasting weapon,
“…what the hell is love, anyway…”, he wonders,
“… love, joy, peace…”, he chants…,
“… love, joy, peace…”, “… love, joy, peace… come to me…, cloak me”,
For this to happen, though, he knows he must see himself as the beloved…,
He rises, eyeing the black bird regretfully and sighing softly…, maybe next time he thinks, right now, Ms X is due in an hour for her weekly hypnotherapy session, and her currency helps pay the rent, whereas the numinous love that surrounds us has been a little reticent with its euros lately…

He makes one last attempt, optimist that he is,
“… guide me love that surrounds me…, guide me…”,
Whereas my toothbrush?