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PHONY PROPHETS & Visions Of THE ANCIENT SAGE

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The Phony Prophets
Visions Shared By The Ancient Sage
June 6, 1993-August 5, 2012

The Ancient Sage and The Phony Prophets Part I

 - The Phony Prophets -


The phony prophets messed up your mind

as they have mine

retrace your steps

for a season turn your back

on your Guru

seek out solitude

break all ties

with the purveyors of truth

and instant enlightenment --

Take shelter from the storm

of opposing voices

take shelter from the storm

of fashionable ideas

take shelter from the torrential

down pour of cynicism

take shelter from the tidal waves

of despair

take shelter from

the rolling thunder of doubt --


Listen to other voices

to those half-mad with wandering

in this wilderness

searching --


Let each step

guide you away from Dogmas --

Remember that all Dogmas

give you tunnel vision --

It is a time for a new vision--

Out of your solitude

re-enter the world

appearing at first as a lamb

then after a season

Let your roar be heard -


The Ancient Sage And Phony Prophets Part II

The Ancient Sage Having Visions of Brahma
by Gordon Coombes 1.

The Ancient Sage tells of visions


of becoming Brahma

each moment a thousand years

each breath taken

breathing in light & clouds

breathing in sky sun moon & stars

breathing in swirling spiraling Galaxies-


our eyes devouring ancient forests

pyramids deserts cities

miles & miles of open road

swallowing form & chaos

becoming Alpha & Omega

becoming all things

feeding upon lakes streams rivers

oceans mountains valleys-


feeding upon history

feeding on Time

Past Present & Future

in each moment-


Brahma breathes

whole worlds come in & out

of existence

Brahma blinks his eyes

an eon a thousand years pass

Brahma blinks his eyes

a single moment passes-


sitting beneath the Bodhi tree

sitting upon the ground

sitting upon a red & gold cushion

becoming Buddha

becoming Brahma

sliding through Time

wieving moments together

becoming Vishnu-


Dreaming Walking up mountain paths

in the Himalayas carrying

my own bowl for begging feasting on rice

going from Temple to Temple

searching for my lost teacher

from my first incarnation

a hundred incarnations later

the landscape still the same

when Milarepa & the ancient sage

wandered this land-


He showed me in a vision

going from Nepal to Tibet

having walked the length of the Ganges

water flowing always the same

always different-



Sitting beneath a hundred Bodhi trees

& the sacred one

roots sunk into the earth

each telling a different tale

each telling the same tale

meditating at the source

having visions so clear

revealing it all

the images fading

drifting into the ether-


the Buddha or an angel

passing invisible in waves

through the high grass

sitting watching this

reaching down with one hand

touching the ground feeling a surge

of energy behind all of this

of the engines humming gently

roaring at the centre of the universe

sparks shooting out into space

Brahma dreaming creating imagined worlds

of the known & the unknowable

watching Shiva the destroyer

dancing towards us

swallowing a thousand galaxies

returning forever returning

til Brahma sleeping dreams once more-


Part 2. of THE ANCIENT SAGE


the Ancient Sage

reads poetry to the converted

at the Café Apollinaire & other

dimly-lit smokey cafés

wears a prayer shawl

thumbs his rosary beads

meditates on a Zen Koan

cries out " Oh Jerusalem"

sings a couple of verses

of the wild man William Blake

tries to explain the three fold

& four fold visions of poetry

wears clothes from Tibet

dreams of Nepal

carries a photo of the Dali Lama

& the Pope shaking hands

& one of the Sacred Heart

places crucifixes around his room

chanting facing Mecca

seven times a day

refuses to drink wine

refuses to eat pork or beef

prays to the Ravens in the tree

outside his window

prays to Krishna & Vishnu

& Shiva & Brahma

asks the Buddha for a sign

prays to Gloosecap & Manitou & the Buffalo

burns incense & sweet grass

fills his room with the statues

of Gods & Demons

hoping for inspiration

to keep the world at bay

waits to be transported

in a trance in a state of Grace

to Golgotha to Mount Sinai

in Elijah's chariot of fire

to Mount Olympus

to Nirvana or Shangri-la

to paradise or Valhalla

he must be sure

he must be certain

so he covers all his bases

or maybe he'll get to go

on the package tour

to visit all the lands of the dead -


the ancient sage says

the world is filled with wolves

hungry about to devour us

at any moment

demons of all sorts

dance about us

invisible taunting us

waiting for us

to make one false move

then to the lower realms

of Hades or Hell or the Isle of the dead

we will descend

or be reborn to suffer even more

or just to relive it all over again

& so he hides in his room

& in his books in his own head dreaming

having visions of a dying world -

VISIONS OF THE ANCIENT SAGE:
REFLECTIONS DISTORTED & OTHER FACES OF GODS & PROPHETS


Continued from Jan 27, 2005


see before you the wiseman

sitting in his humble hut

reading & meditating-


see before you the fool

who has lost face

who has fallen into the abyss-


see before you the coward

taking all the glory

then acting the fool-


see before you the lovers

always embracing

later becoming enemies-


see before you death

taking the fool & the hero

the coward & the wiseman

he has no favourites-


see before you the roads

intersecting leading

to a thousand choices-

see before you the beautiful

in face & limbs

though the soul is twisted

& made ugly-


see before you then the ugly

which is beautiful

as the soul is glorious & kind

with no fear & an open heart

filled with compassion-


see before you someone breaking bread

offering wine & a simple message of love

to all who thirst & hunger for truth

offering himself up for the feast

washing the feet of harlots & saints

of the wise the foolish & the vain

of the rich & the poor

making the meek into the rulers of the world

healing the sick & raising the dead

as the Cross on Calvary called to him-


see before you someone asking you to sit

to contemplate the universe

to dispel all your confusion

to bring your mind to rest

to see the world with new eyes

to see through the grand illusion

to be filled with compassion

for all who suffer & die

holding a flower in his hands

preaching without words to a thousand monks-


see before you the messenger of God

whose speech is golden

surrendering to Gabriel

revealing the hidden treasure

unveiling the face of God

in the lush green oasis of the desert

in Medina beneath the cloudless sky

hearing God’s voice in the wind

feeling his presence in the sun moon & stars-


see before you the Prophet

leading thousands across the desert

dressed in white armed only with faith

going on the Hajj to pray in Mecca

& circle the Kabba

in his last days preaching to tens of thousands

from a hill-top his words echoing

on the granite walls

gently taken to the other-side

to pass through the Seven Heavens

to arrive at the Throne of God-

I
More Teachings From The Ancient Sage


each of us is a separate culture

a separate entity

with a separate cultural identity

each living within their own sphere of influence-

it is only by the acceptance of these

spheres that we can begin

to understand ourselves & others-


the other is a foreign culture

which attempts to encroach upon

our spheres of influence-


the great goal is harmony

not the tearing down of walls

but acceptance & tolerance

for all these other cultures-


each is as if on their own planet

each an emperor of their own world

each is in the process of empire building-


the actions performed are ritualized

they become sacred to us

each performed at the appointed times-


each is self enclosed

each has built a fortress

each carries their own baggage-


II

each face old & worn

young & innocent

man or woman

toiling in the fields

in the seas

& those who toil in the fields of souls

bent over books pondering

life's mysteries life's injustices

some toil in office towers of steel & glass

some toil beneath the earth

some toil in lecture halls

in school-rooms

some work in wood & steel

some tend to the sick & dying

some help to bring new life into the world

some toil in the fields of the imagination

bringing new life into the world

some toil in the depths of the jumble jar

trying to sort it all out

to dig into the darkness

to reveal the stars & galaxies within-


each reflects the face of god

each is a galaxy swirling about

like whirling dirvishes-


some find god in the face of a child

some find god in the face of a thief

some find god in the face of the destitute

some find god in the faces of the starving multitudes-


some find god in the woods

as light streams & sparkles through the branches

searching for the welcoming earth to rest in-


III

even the soul goes in & out of fashion

in this fast food fifteen minute culture

where fame fortune & love all fade in time-


the profound becomes a cliche

the saddest story becomes sentimental

only the weak are sentimental

as caring goes in & out of fashion

as the ploughshares are beaten into swords

to avenge our war dead & our cracked pride-


others see our dark shadows

others see our shinning light

it is there to warm & console them

not to warm ourselves-


being in the dark & the cold alone

drifting through space

like being naked on an ice-floe-


IV

if these were your last moments

how would you feel

what would you think

filled with awe & fear

like falling asleep like waking up

like the greatest pain of all

wondering what not being feels like -


iam an enigma to myself

no less than you are to yourself

no less than iam to you

no less than you are to me-


i am the mystery which i live

seeing it all end a thousand times

during a thousand life-times

reborn again & again to pay

for my share of grief

eventually we become what we despise

eventually we become what we treasure most-


V

some preach from mountain tops

& hillsides to the multitudes

some preach from a boat on the sea of galilee

some preach in the vast desert

some cry out in the wilderness

some shout into the wind

some preach from beneath a sacred tree

some preach beside a stream

waiting for the fish to take the bait

some preach from grave-sides & tombs

some preach in the name of one god

some preach invoking a thousand gods

some preach in the name of reason & science

some preach scorning all preaching-


VI

we acquire an array of rituals

icons idols our own religious relics

our own systemized taboos

our own calendar of holy days

the day we were born

the day we were wed

the day we met our beloved

the day we & our beloved were seperated

our times of victories

our times of betrayal & shame-


finding solace in our books music & art

having taken on an aura of healing medicine-


some accept & acquiesce to what

is popular at the moment
finding solace in the group-mind-set-

some search for meaning & purpose
in the work of outsiders-

VII

each is a foreigner in a strange land

you are a strange land

your soul your heart

your mind is an enigma-


have you mapped out your geography

wandered through its valleys

canoed down its rivers

gone kayaking alone

in its stormy seas

explored its dark forests

gotten lost in its labrynth

of a thousand dead-ends

of a thousand memories

played continuously on the screen

inside the jumble-jar-


searching its highways & byways
exploring the sunny busy streets
dripping neon into the night
walking along quiet tree-lined streets
trudging down dimly-lit shadowy
dead-end streets-

VIII

what visions i have while sleeping
on my beloved's grave
her voice i hear speaking softly
her words like brittle fallen leaves
stirring in the cold wet autumn wind
her words like broken glass
tear into my heart
these sights too foul for me
my eyes pierced with knives
to see her roaming amongst the gravestones
where all these witnesses are to others silent
to me they call out
those who died quietly in their sleep
those who suffered long before
they could at last sleep forever
those who cried out as they did the deed
swallowed pills cut their wrists
those who put a bullet in their skull
those who died slowly of a stomach wound
those who took a stroll into oncoming traffic
smashed to pieces by cars & buses
those who hung themselves from the heating pipes
in some rent-by-the week room
those who fell into the harbour
losing their breath in deep dirty dark waters
gasping on bubbling foul-smelling sewage
so many times their attempts
all unlucky til the last-

there are those who were content
accepting their fate
finding themselves here wandering about
their dreams of peace shattered
their worst fears come true-

my beloved's chilly hand
holds mine insist i share her crypt
for all eternity
she is a thorn & a rose
the thorns i wear as a cap on my head
the rose i crush beneath my boots-

IX

some never knowing a day of true suffering
some never knowing a day without it
some filled with regret
a few moments wasted changing their fate
from one of pleasure to one of want
from a life of luxury
to one of making do with others' leftovers
from a life of passion
to a stingy coarse & common fearful existence
of resentment jealousy & spite
their souls left ragged & shabby-

there are those who take the artificial so seriously
whose souls are silent gagged & bound in their tombs
those who babble on all day long
playing word-games showing off their wit
their superiour upbringing their superiour taste
exchanging views on movies music & art
& the days headlines all grist for their mills
each trying to out do the other
their souls their hearts never touched
they are shallow glittering pools
of stagnant poisonous waters
wearing their cynicism on their shirt-sleeves-

others in their apathetic stupor
living out their petty lives
for some paltry salary
to some like the salaries of princes
it's all the same in the end
living a charmed life
til they have their first taste of sweet sorrow
turning life deep & serious
as they too become wise
at such a cost
but some never find such wisdom
as we dream our fantasy of justice-

some treat the trivial as sacred
some treat the serious as trivial
why try to be so deep they ask
why are some attracted to the profound
others prefer the shallow
living on the surface
of such a vast unexplored ocean
where there is another universe
a subcontinent beneath the waves
waiting to be charted
some take their chances
expecting some reward
those treasures are not for sale
nor can they be bartered for-

for some the light has gone out
for some the light was never lit
for some the light is a burden
for some the light is a blessing-

WORLDS WITHIN WORLDS
HAIKU, APHORISMS, MUSINGS & AFTER THOUGHTS OF THE ANCIENT SAGE, Part II

at night

the blue glow of TV screens

alive in empty houses-


computers full of life

order servants about-


a continuous humming

the computer dreams

mumbles to itself half-awake-


waves of words

bits & pieces of ourselves

sent over the internet

falling on deaf ears-


our cries of despair & hope

scattered shattered into fragmented

binary codes-


these poems

the Great Master says

are just a distraction-


the Great Master says

the essence of Zen

is poetry-


one hand clapping

silence answers

the Great Master rises at dawn-


Amazed by tiny green emeralds glowing

in darkness droplets of bile

running through dying fingers-


lacking skillful means

lacking patience

east & west collide-


sad to say sad to see

transplanted Lotus dying

the Buddha waits patiently-


the teacher dies of loneliness

waiting for students

who have gone back to sleep-


the student wastes away waiting

returns to his world of delusions

no sign of a compassionate teacher-


no sign of a compassionate teacher

the student returns to a world

of vague shadows & hazy ill-defined surreal dreams-

II

In this run-down rooming-house

of the soul all these worlds whirling about

fearing standing still fearing it will

all come crashing down fearing it will

all be blown to pieces in a moment

of distraction letting the reins go too slack-


Having created having built our own

pleasure dome protected from the world

of madness & suffering out there

by sky-high impenetrable walls

in this run-down rooming-house

of the soul-


Sometimes punching a hole

through the plastic skin

separating these two worlds

having wondrous visions

of vast glittering space-

III

Sometimes fearing letting creatures

monstrous indescribable into this realm

leaping out of solid walls

turned into thin sheets of cellophane

fearing only you & I see them the others

oblivious to psychic- vampires attracted

to our fears & nightmares insect-like legs

wrapped about our necks

latched onto us piggyback style

its long sharp-edged tongue dipped into our skulls

suckling stealing our visions dreams & fantasies

leaving us drained returning us to this colourless

black & white existence of this bleak run-down

rooming-house of the soul -


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