Truth 

We chase it most of our lives. We go on quests for universal truths, for absolute truths, for religious truths and scientific truths. We join, we attend, we pray that there are other people who share those truths, who can validate those truths, who will reassure us that, if we only hold to those truths, everything will be okay.

A long time ago, and so gradually that I cannot remember when or how it happened, I let go of believing in an unchangeable truth. I let go of needing anyone to validate my truth. And I terminated my quest for any truth that required chasing. 

I decided to let truth come to me. 

And it does. It comes sometimes on the gossamer wings of a dragonfly, and sometimes in the refining heat of the dragon’s breath. It comes at inconvenient times, and in unattractive packages, and it comes when I am still and noticing only the beauty in everything I see. 

It shifts, each time I think I have a finger on it. That bit of truth I uncovered opens just a fraction more and I see that there is a deeper truth behind it. Like a stage with an infinite number of curtain lines, each one pulls back to reveal only a vignette and then another curtain. 

How can it be otherwise? When we are infinite creatures, bound only by our own agreement to the illusion of time and space and limitation. How could our truths be anything but infinite in nature?

Like Easter eggs in tall grass, like nuts in the squirrels nest, like a pirate’s buried treasure, we hide them. We make a game of forgetting, of not knowing, and then discovering with delight the truths that have been ours all along. 

So I offer this invitation, not to guide you to my truths, for I gobble those berries as I find them. But to tease you into a truthing excursion of your own. 

This space exists for no reason other than for me to tell you of the berries I have found, and hopefully, by doing so, to inspire you to go inside and find your own. 

Of course, you are welcome to say to me, “Likely, you are mad.”