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We See The Reality We Need To See

“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.” ~Robertson Davies

Two people with the sun at their backs standing shoulder to shoulder on a busy street, observe a man walking toward them. The man is olive skinned, bearded, wearing a turban speaking to himself in a language neither understands. One observer sees a terrorist plotting the downfall of Western civilization, the other a holy man lost in prayer beseeching god to bring peace to the world. What is the reality? Perhaps, neither is reality. Perhaps, both are reality.

“Your opinion is not my reality.” ~Steve Maraboli

The xenophobe fearing those from other places, speaking other languages, worshiping other gods, is a person who sees right and wrong in diversity. This is in complete contrast to my reality that says the world is a beautiful place ripe for exploring with an amazing diversity of people each having unique value just by being themselves believing the concept of right and wrong are irrelevant. People are simply different. Our realities, mine and the xenophobe’s, conflict. Can both these realities be true?

“Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else.” ~George Orwell, 1984

If both are indeed true, mine to me, his to him, is there such a thing as objective reality? I lean towards no. Two people can see the exact same event with vastly different experiences, different realities.

“I learned there were lots of realities in the world.” ~Haruki Murakami

Perhaps the question should be, what reality do I need to see? Or, is it realities? It seems realities can shift based upon circumstances, alter with knowledge, mutate with experience. Is this then a new reality? An expanded reality? If new, was the original real or illusion? Perhaps, there are parallel realities?

“Reality is frequently inaccurate.” ~Douglas Adams

I can safely say, my reality is colored by my fundamental belief that people are people are people and that each individual has more intrinsic value than the wealth of nations. It means to mean the homeless woman is just as important as the queen of England. This is the reality on which my understanding of life has a foundation, a true north by which I navigate existence. It is the reality I need to see for my life to have meaning.

“I realize now that the reality of things is not something you convey to people but something you make.” ~Haruki Murakami

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The Secrets of the World are Wrapped in Silence (#10-Father)

I am still haunted
When god rent the temple curtain
And my father’s silence crashed into my world,
Rupturing a heart still carrying his blood
Silence engulfing my soul.

I held his limp, stained hand
Hands once carpenter strong,
Withered flower,
Heart hushed,
Stilled by skeleton fingers
That hadn’t smoldered in the ashtray for decades,
Silent assassins,
Ninjas hacking with shiny katanas at pink tissue
Poison cancer invading lungs.

I watched his last breath escape,
Final exhalation
Falling forever into eternal silence.

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The Secrets of the World are Wrapped in Silence (#9-Communication)

I wish to understand my wife
The way an old couple converses,
Stories revealed in the flash of eyes dark as teak,
Volumes understood in the silence between kisses,
Epics communicated in pursed lips,
Affection shared in light caresses of fingertips
More connection than newlyweds share in a
Thousand whirlwind conversations
More understood in silence
Than in all the tomes of the world

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The Secrets of the World are Wrapped in Silence (#8-Crone?)

I want to feel the emotion in the
Secret prayers of the bent woman with
Throbbing eyelids,
Dowager uncoiling rickety bones,
Stretching stubborn joints
Extended obstinate serpent spine until fingers
Searching for the love promised by this
White Jesus,
White for history scorns swarthy ancestry,
Obliterates contributions of the tawny woman, ebony man,
Strokes White Christ’s face with a hand long clawed by arthritis,
Feeble.

Long abandoned lips
Kiss His bleached feet
Kiss with weary heart while
Lifeless eyes of the saints
Draped in false piety,
Stare down hawk noses
From high perches, false thrones, into the silent void
Look beyond the crone, yet
Pass judgment on her odorous, threadbare rags
Holes exposing filthy skin
Flesh rotting from nights exposed to cold winds
Blowing over the frozen lake
Winds collecting ice daggers on the journey
Flaying her humanity while she
Slept in a cardboard box dreaming,
Longing for the warmth of human touch.

Little do they know she was once an angel,
A land bound siren
Bejeweled with gold rings and strings of milky pearls
Attired in rainbows woven from spider silk,
That would flutter silently in her wake, a
Flag demanding homage from the wolves with tongues dripping lust
Fixated on the wiggle of her ass
Until it faded into empty history.

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The Secrets of the World are Wrapped in Silence (#7-Caves)

I want to see through the mind of the artists
Spitting ink over their hands
Handprints reaching to the future proclaiming,
I Am!
We are!
That, in the deepest darkness
Created the cave paintings
Tawny Deer with vacant eye
Dun horse with raven tresses
Bird head man dancing with bison
Deep in the lungs of Lascaux
Where silence screams volumes from
Past into future
Communication unbounded by words,
Silence born simultaneously with the
Emergence of spiritual man
Reaching for God,
Seeking to understand the
Muteness of the Reticent Gods playing chess with the
Anxieties of man.
Checkmate.

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The Secrets of the World are Wrapped in Silence (#6-Smiling Flowers)

I want to know the secret
Behind the silent smiles of flowers
Growing in the ravines between skyscrapers,
Smiles unheard by the eyes of the
Frenzied apes scurrying into the office buildings,
Artificial light,
Stale air,
Perpetual erections piercing the pink morning light,
Scratching white wounds in the blue sky,
Edifices the architect designed not understanding
Man is judged by the size of the heart
Not the length of a fictitious
Organ.

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The Secrets of the World are Wrapped in Silence (#5-Lovers)

I want to dwell in the quiet following passion
When panting subsides into satisfied murmurs
Purring kittens interlaced in a basket
Spent lovers allowing air pockets to form between burning bodies
Maintaining heart connection in sweaty legs intertwined,
Dancers in lingering embrace long after
The last note of the song disappears into
Serenity.

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