William Irwin Thompson

Self: Now that the angel has shifted from me to you,
what use is there for me in your alaya store?
Why did you advance my time and take death over?
Why should you wait until I’m some senile duffer,
or is there something you still can be hoping for?
Daimon: Even if you were to get your ego out of my way–
and you’ve only begun to get the feel of that,
your end is the most important part of the play,
for how you die marks the trail like the cougar’s scat.
Self: For a Daimon, that’s really some earthy image.
Next you will be talking of football and scrimmage?
Daimon: I owe it all to you and our hikes in Crestone,
when I kept that cat out of your Tenderfoot zone.
Self: Not to mention the bears with their berry-filled piles,
the slinking coyotes with their Mona Lisa smiles.
Daimon: If it is angels not animals on your mind,
then let’s cut to the chase and the real reason–
if she is now linked to me–you feel left behind,
and death still gives you that elemental frisson.
Self: When I die, she shifts automatically to you,
so since she’s left, doesn’t it mean we two are through?
Daimon: How you die is important to the three of us.
You’re right to see us together, waiting for you,
and to empty yourself and make space luminous
is precisely the thing that you now need to do.
Self: Does entering death in managed IV dying
darken the stream we’re to follow into the sun?
Daimon: And puts thought in the way of translucent flying,
which is something, remember, you’ve already done.
Self: Which is my point, since that’s done, why am I still here?
Daimon: To work through the body’s hold in death you still fear.
When your mind is the mud, the stem, and the lotus,
you will be free to die and not even notice.