It is supposed to be the highest form of information. It is a precious thing, essential. We need truth like we need air… don’t we? Why is there a layer of obscurity over everything? Is truth too raw? Does it scald our senses? Truth is our vitality, but I spend my time on the other side. In a vacuum where only pockets of the truth survive. It is the void where lies and obscurity are thick and what is true twinkles in the distance. Not unobtainable, but so far out of reach that living in such a light is a dream seldom had. It is surreal. Attempts at honesty are stage plays. Holding up a mirror, perhaps, but one that is warped and equally deceptive.
…stretchy. Time is sticky. It moves too slow. Too fast. Always the wrong way from what we want. But we are the problem. We are the ones too fast, too slow. Blaming time. Blaming the cosmos when we can grasp time in our clutches if we would only change our perspective.
What could I be? Just the briefest of beings in the smallest of worlds. All of us. Is it any wonder that we reach for so much grander? Is it not so very human to strive for the scale we wonder at? Why press that down? Why crush that in anyone?
… is a swirl. The old and the new. The spontaneous and the routine. Some things settled and some bubbling away. I do not mind the bubbling. It is quiet. It is rain bubbles in the puddle. It is tomato bubbles in the spaghetti sauce.
…in the not knowing of things. I once believed that I should cut out all unnecessary words. But then it occurred to me that all the words were unnecessary. Even though that might not be true, it seemed a very compelling reason to adopt silence.