Mar 19 2009
Truth?
I stare at my laptop screen wondering, what will this blank page turn into? Will it be art? No. But assuredly, it will be truth? Probably not, I respond. Questions raised by the heart, and answered by the mind. Are the two not connected?
I sit between two magnets. The two of them equadistance away from me, neither with a stronger magnetic attraction. So I rest between, constantly pulled in two directions but never capable of moving to either side. A magnet of the soul. A magnet of the mind. One pulling for love, seeking joy and happiness, the other pushing me away, attempting to use logic and reason to guide my decision. But is this not the writing of us all? Constantly pushed and pulled in every direction til we’re so battered and torn and sore and hurt that we simply fall onto whichever side happens to be pulling us in at that moment?
I am a writer of the mind,
I am a poet of the soul .
But why? What is the point?
She told me she loved me, but how can I trust? Words are but the dim representation of the feelings which reside in the soul. Words cloud, taint, and destroy… But do they not clarify, perfect, and construct as well? Words are the boards and metal of the mind. They piece together the buildings which are erected in front of us, shedding beauty, casting warmth, and protecting us. Do we need protection, after-all? And are they not the very same resources which are used to build the vehicles which shatter our creations to the ground?
So how do we know? We do not.
So what about actions? Are they an accurate representation of the way a person feels, thinks, and what they desire? No, they are not either. Each of us are simply actors cast for the play called “Life,” nothing truthful or real, simply imitations and deceit. Actions contradict, some of love, some of hate; and surely, one cannot feel both radical emotions for the same individual, at least not true love, or true hate.
But alas, maybe that is the answer; none of it is true. Maybe nothing is true at all.
