The Truth only is welcome, when we can make it serve us (A whiskey Lamentation)

Mo Anam Cara…..

What Say you

Everyone seeks a herald of the truth, or a would be earnest keeper, that would serve us best. However, should it reveal our vices, or be some oculist to ensure clarity of  our being, then we fear it would reveal… Us

This endless merry go round… our need of the truth of us to be known.. and at any given moment… the devastation we will wrought.. to ensure, such truth will never come to be.

We ache.. fear.. long.. beg.. lament.. terrorize… wish for… destroy … ache … ruin… hide from…  sabotage… and surrender to… all for the same

THE TRUTH … OF US.

may we never know it… may others break us for it..

But either way.. may we know peace… 21616393_1940213749571797_21627560212173864_n

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However you see it in this moment,(Truth) you will never see it that way again.

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All our lives we battle our own perspectives. Either it is a desperate rally to cut through the lines of confusion and doubt to see the truth of what we have denied as truth. Or Some harrowing defense to stave off the truth, so we never face it, no matter what price we may pay.

But…  sometimes… we are not the arbiter of our moment of seeing the truth. be it of us, or of something so profound it reveals us..

Sometimes… Life just unleashes Truth upon us.. and we are laid waste by the force of its yield.

We sit the .. our world no more than cinder and ash.. we sit bewildered and confused.

We eventually haphazardly grope at ourselves… to see if all the pieces of us are there…

some times they are.. some times they aren’t.

Slowly we struggle to are feet, and try to find direction, if there is one to find at all, but we are forever changed. We will never see the truth the same way again.

 

 

What became of that person before I became what I have come to be.

We know who we are, or , at least we should, and any given moment that we do, that knowing is bound in who we were, in the where we have come from.

Now this seems a perilous conundrum, rife with unneeded complexity. Yet when that codex is deciphered, It should yield some understandable clues that we can solve the puzzle of us by and large.

This is not what I speak to now.

I am talking about those times when we Know full well, exactly who we are, but we become so fixed on what that means to us, we read into it again , and again,  something else, we literally redefine ourselves in the blindness of our truth, till we are…

not ourselves at all.

The damage is then done…  the simulacrum that has replaced that we knew ourselves to be, Stares at us from the mirror of our soul.. surveying the damage to every part of our lives.

“How did we get here” we ask…

There is no one to answer. We have lost the person who could have.

The person we were, before we became that which we came to be.

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The Cruelty of believing.

469563_3448420817970_1846586658_oThe torture we exact upon ourselves when we let go of skepticism and objectivity hard earned through our own pain and lessons learned from the same. We, instead, become blind from the waters of optimism, we choose to take to plunge into, because we heed no voice that would call us back from the perilous cliff above it. even, our own.

“Its not like before”

“It will all work out”

Its just not the same”

You don’t know them like I do.”

We have a reason … an excuse.. to fit any desperate plea to call us back from the ledge.

We will leap no matter what.

It is that need for faith, not in someone else but ourselves, that we must hastily reforge. An All consuming need to right and true ourselves.

And so.. do we crash on the rocks…. No, are we washed out to Sea.. no… We flounder.. tread water helplessly, for all to watch.. till we are water logged and spent.

We Just might call for help.. maybe we drown… or we might be blessed with tide and crashed upon the shore, but in the end we will have few moments to reflect on how we came to this moment, when we ignore all, even ourselves in what we chose to believe.

 

When what is needed is for you to not be what made you what who you are.

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Identity.

Is there anything more consuming of our time, painful in our search of, or malevolently stolen from us by those who would prey upon us than the complete an utter singularity of being that is our very reason to be.

Who are we.

It is a melancholy cloud for some… a bitter fugue state of suffocation for others, Yet for a precious few it is an effervescent rambling of wanderlust to enjoy.

Then.. for many of the rest, it is an anchor of truth, affixing us to a spot we will never move from. Others it is a brand,  be it freshly scoured into the flesh, or a old and familiar scar, but its mark will never fade.

But the precious few….. to whom the knowing of oneself is a boon and sorrow all at once, for they see then the torrent of all about them.. and will learn that no matter what, they cannot change even for a moment what those around them know.. or don’t know about who they are… for they will never be ready to see anything and will choose to see nothing, but what they need to see in the moment to be that they are ready to be.

Because of this.

Love will bring sorrow.

Devotion will deliver Misery.

Sacrifice invites heartbreak.

Forgiveness is rewarded with Spite.

 

It isn’t that a person, even one in pain, does not want to know who they are, its just they rather do anything in this world, than have someone see  before they have a chance to see it and decide if they can stand what they have come to see, or worse who they have come to be.

 

That moment when you learn, you are not worth the fight.

People can be callous, indifferent, selfish, or without the will…. to have will for so many things.20161210_214728.jpg The range of these situations and circumstances are as diverse as we as individuals.

We anecdote such moments in such ways as “I just don’t have time for it” I really don’t care about it” or “It’s just not worth any more my time”

When we presented as such.. we begrudgingly admit, we may do the same.. with distractions, or hobby, recreation, novelty or the like.

Yet at times… it takes a more ominous and darker tone… like when a relationship or marriage ends.. or when a parent, be it divorce or simply life.. just abandons any effort, instead focusing on the easier and more rewarding part of their lives.. or at the very least.. that part causes the least woe..

This can also happen child to parent, sibling to sibling… Some of us carve out a neat .. comfortable and manageable world where our own conscience never need be revisited.. so whether it be child, parent, partner, loved one or sibling… we can erase them .. usually with the help with someone in our life.. who best prefers our attentions and.. cares little for what our conscience might bear.

But for those who are discarded… they do not cease to exist.. despite their excommunication, and state of non existence.. however justly, or unjustly earned. They abide in a place that few know, and fewer still can ever know the pain of

“Do you remember when I was something to you?”