The Truer Truth… to begin…

Begin

“There are few nudities so objectionable as the naked truth.” – Agnes Repplier

It’s time.

It’s time to transform our lives—from the ordinary that shouldn’t have become normal for people like us to the life we’ve hoped for.

It’s time to live our hopes.

Solomon said there’s a time for everything.

Everything.

That means we always live in the time for something.

And now is our time.

No more excuses, no more delays, no better-things to do. In a voyeuristic culture, in a voyeuristic world, and in the mind-game of ‘I like to watch’ it’s time to do something worth watching.

And we are ready.

It’s our time to do something worth watching.

We’re ready for whatever is next because what’s next is all we’ve got.

The past can’t be changed. We can play with it, or twist it, but if we try to ignore it we will be haunted by it. It won’t go away.

The present—our now—is ephemeral. It’s worse than brief, faster than fleeting; it’s timeless and seductive. And it’s gone… just like that. If we listen closely we can hear it laughing at us, mocking us.

What’s next is all we’ve got.

And what’s is next is up to us.

It’s time.

Our time.

Our timeThis is the truer truth.

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If a tree falls in a forest…

tree fallsI am the tree that fell in the wood
with no one caring to hear,
the one at whom dogs bark
out of hatred instead of fear.

I am the one who spoke loud and clear
with no one knowing I uttered,
the door that is still a door
and not a jar unshuttered.

I am the book written but unread,
with a spine uncracked or bent,
the lure considered but dry,
un-tied, untackled, and unsent.

I am the road often taken and trod
derided in gospel and verse,
the angel that didn’t fit on pin head
in the sophistry that is so perverse.

I am the billions ten times over
who have lived and loved and died,
the everyman ignored or enslaved
and for whom no one has cried.

Spin Again…

globeMost people live where they live
and die where they die but not me
I was going places and seeing things
I’ve heard there’s so much to see
I’ve got to; I’m not one to forgive.

You can’t tell me it’s all the same
no matter where one may travel
because even paupers and kings
know to set out on paths of gravel
to search for new views to claim.

It may be the path itself I take
or it could be the capital I’ll find
I won’t know until I spread my wings
And set out to venture resigned
Even if lost, it’ll be no mistake.

I’ve waited too long to commence
had too many excuses to stay
lingering one too many springs
there’s no better time than today
I’ve no longer a good defense.

When I was young I was brave
I dreamed nothing would interrupt
my exploration for foreign beings
but I didn’t anticipate how abrupt
just staying here would enslave.

Spin a globe, see where it lands
Risk an exotic foreign destination
Cut yourself free from apron strings
Make the journey your aspiration
Even if no one else understands.

Unless where the globe would stop
the spot where your finger lands
is a plot where a hearse brings
dreamers back to dust’s demands
and that final six foot drop.

In that case, spin again.

Faith without fundamentalism…

I wish there was a way
to have the love without the guilt,
fun without the fight of heresies,
desire and passion without shame,
the comfort of the known unknown
bedside for my friend gasping
and hoping along with every tear
for a sweet bye-and-bye without,
for faith without fundamentalism
because I need life to beme more
than this, only this, I need there to be
something instead of nothing, a reason
to live that’s more than a worthy death,
no more martyrdom of cowardly
necessity to prove worth to grace,
and no more pissy, angry divine
overseeing unquenchable Gehenna,
and more whimsy and irony and
more of what we make less, please.

Quiet and loud…

imagine a time
when all’s quiet and loud
at once,
the children’s cries
of laughter crisscrossing
the air, scattering
and careening here
and there,
bills are due, money’s not,
work’s always waiting,
sleep is fleeting,
the windows are drafty,
the weather adverse,
the news is always bad,
and not every I love you
can be trusted,
but all’s quiet and loud
at once
and I don’t want it
any other way.

On learning who I am…

tree falls in the forestI am the tree that fell in the wood
with no one caring to hear,
the one at whom dogs bark
out of hatred instead of fear.
I am the one who spoke loud and clear
with no one knowing I uttered,
the door that is still a door
and not a jar unshuttered.
I am the book written but unread,
with a spine uncracked or bent,
the lure considered but dry,
un-tied, untackled, and unsent.
I am the road often taken and trod
derided in gospel and verse,
the angel that didn’t fit on pin head
in the sophistry that is so perverse.
I am the billions ten times over
who have lived and loved and died,
the everyman ignored or enslaved
and for whom no one has cried.