I pick up the pen in my heart hand and the blood of my soul pours onto the page. The words coalesce and clot into the binding phrases, sealed deals with my spirit's punctuation. Some days it is hard for my mind to keep up; the current is swift and deeper than I expect. The pulse of energy is amazing even to the mind it feeds. Like clouds racing the sky this power brings shade to some and rain to others. The reaction of the moistened varies, some pull up hoods and scurry away, others with upturned faces form a friendship with me. At the level of electrons, we have a molecular bonding, we are forever changed because I have picked up the pen and they picked up the page.
Chain yourself to wisdom.
Not wanting to speak the truth
doesn’t change the truth,
truth is funny that way,
it is not affected by my cold shoulder.
I snub it and it stands just the same.
I am the one who bends and withers.
Truth withstands the pressure that I never have,
the force of other people’s disappointment and regret.
I have sympathy or is it cowardice?
I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on.
I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place;
for truth is not a beating heart
and I am too much a feeling creature,
but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right.
And stand under the arching bough of truth,
because it is a shelter from the winds of change
and I need all the help I can get.
When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience
I will try to remember that life is longer than I think
and if I don’t face the truth now
it is going to be in my face later
when I might be less prepared.