The light in here is filtered and rarefied,
Shallow as a puddle
Something distant and obscure as stars
In here every opinion
Has a small lie
Stitched in its seams
There are half truths
Let me be clear
I can’t be clear.
So don’t go out onto the busy street with only an image
Comprised of labels, brands, judgments, expectations
And someone else’s ideas
Or any other symbol of social class.
Don’t seek to underwrite your pure thought
With clauses that determine the perimeters of your conversation
Framing the dialogue between you and your world
Conceding only what you should say for advancements sake
Or even a stranger’s brief and inconsequential view.
Your real message unfolds from the grammar of your soul
Like the damp and delicate wings of the monarch butterfly
Who flies 2000 miles along ancestral trails
In search of its homeland
We have copied and pasted so many codes
Into our fibres
We have lost our mother tongue
The language of trees rooted in the lived lives of our kin.
Ancient voices have grown mute as ghosts within us.
Abstractions seek to define transcendental absolutes.
But perhaps the truth is found closer to the earth
In fragments of pottery, wartime letters
And all the infinite distances between us.
Truth is a collection of things, papers that keep scattering and reshuffling.
One page cannot reveal the whole book.
So don’t keep pressing the dimmer switch.
Let’s walk out of our doors
Dressed in our essence
The threadbare dawn light of our being
I dare you
I dare me.
Let’s clothe our words simply
And with kindness
Dress for the weather, comfort.
Let’s laugh too loudly and bare our broken smiles gladly,
There will be no re-runs
We will walk this path
May those that follow
This trail behind us
Not become lost.