Truth

There are days when truth slips between the cracks of your mind like a nugget of soap amidst sudsy fingers…
each conversation a new layer of convolution.
As a blister pops, painful awareness bursts in
of each perspective’s limitations.
Is there even a nugget amidst the suds?
The wise is one who knows she does not know
but continues her quest for more of the elephant’s anatomy.

There are days when truth is a jigsaw puzzle, a half-finished mosaic, a jungle –
alive and growing and covered in green.
These are hopeful days – pieces can be gathered, fit together, explored or envisioned,
brimming with possibility.

There are days when truth is not objective:
can be felt but not spoken.
These days are heaven and hell,
sunlight and snow,
wells of eyes,
nothingness.

There are days when truth is oppressive,
when powers pretend we don’t live in a compassionate world.
They seek to construct walls of identities,
make us lose sight of problems of collectivity
and their lack of progress,
their engines of greed-soaked apathy.
Days that numb us from action.

But there are days when truth blossoms like a flower,
its sweet perfume enhancing
the togetherness of petals showcasing a delicate pistil.
These are days of unity,
an ocean of relief,
a harmony of termites building a skyscraper
with common vision.

Just as there are days when truth is like quicksand -
an hourglass running out
and decisive actions impinge on the future.
And you are a tugboat on rough waters
navigating between barges… trying to guide them to the same harbour.
And on these days you must call yourself to account for hiding
the truth of your own feelings,
and you know you have been avoiding
facing it,
and sharing it
in all its complicated beauty.
Truth.