Truth is Poetry.
It resonates with a stillness that captivates the heart and soothes the soul.
I keep hoping that the time I set aside to write this blog each week isn’t used up by other, more urgent things… that is to say, that I can write the way I like to write. Under the conditions which I prefer to write. Where I am writing according to a pre-determined schedule that works for me. Where I have time to sit and allow the muse to move through me.
Well, clearly that isn’t happening.
In fact, the ‘muse’ is always Moving.
Gnawing.
Whispering.
I have the opposite problem of most.
Everything is worthy of writing about.
Everything is magical
Everything is miraculous.
Everything is important.
Everything is sacred.
Right now, I’m eating chicken wings and having a beer in a pub, by myself, after work.
I’m thinking. I’m watching. I’m listening. I’m wondering. I’m learning.
And I’m smiling to myself.
I’m so different. That is, I see things so differently now.
The truth is a funny thing.
It’s always there, just waiting patiently to be discovered.
Some want it. Some don’t. But it still waits. It’s lives. It breathes.
And, for some, they always have a sense of it in their peripheral vision. They’re not looking right at it, but it’s there. Influencing them, whether they realize it or not.
It’s not hiding… rather it’s so obvious that it’s taken for granted.
So many other, flashier, more exciting distractions to focus on. So many other mistakes to make under the auspices of feeling in control and powerful.
But truth is not flashy. Truth is often not fun. Truth is humbling, devastating and raw.
But when truth is finally discovered and embraced… its is Poetry.
It is sustaining.
Nourishing.
Dependable.
Accountable.
It’s always been there.
It’s always been there.