The Freedom of Truth: Liar's Plea

Truth is a curious phenomena. It is something that can be very powerful and beneficent, but also incredibly spiteful. For those who adhere to truth and honesty, life is pretty kind. The truth will set you free, so they say - free from guilt, free from fear, free from apprehension. I think the greatest danger in falsifying the truth (lying) is the culpability that builds inside us. As time goes on, guiltiness will haunt, while the chances of the truth coming to the surface increases. It is a terrible, beautiful game.

Truth is dangerous and powerful. Hold true to it and it will never spite you. Turn your back on it and truth will stab it. 

Most people avoid the truth because of the pain or consequences that result from its admission. To avoid such inconveniences, we often fabricate a lie to put off the angst of the moment. The problem  with this is that the pain is minimized for a time, but after a while, especially if the lie is maintained, the pain of the truth getting free becomes far worse. The bigger the fiction, the harder it will fall, the sharper the pieces, and the farther they'll scatter. Also, as time passes, the victims of truth will increase exponentially. Truth must be kept in check by ensuring it is spoken of more often than not. Truth enjoys attention.

We all lie, and little white lies aren't so bad sometimes. But there is a huge difference between a petty fib and a massive fabrication. Have you got lies you've been keeping for a long while? Do they eat you up inside, but you're too afraid to tell the truth? Set those who may be hurt by the truth down and tell it to them gently yourself. They will appreciate it, maybe not immediately, but with time they will respect your courage. It is the worst when the truth is admitted by someone or something else. Don't be afraid to befriend the truth. Truth and honesty will sprinkle your life with goodness. It is the essence of karma.

Liar's Plea

If some solitude can be sought between

The rind that segregates me,

Perhaps some air could leak inside 

And nourish this sheltered being

Whose memories confine with sin

The falseness they betray,

While truth stands by

Suffocating, 

But refuses to decay.

After Sandy: Chawdron

I live on the East Coast. As such, we have experienced a lot of destruction and uncertainty lately. The New York area I think is fairly well known for its ego and hubris. We're always bustling around, rarely thinking of our fellow man. "Frankenstorm" Sandy (and the nor'easter that followed it) has been a humbling experience, returning people to the things that truly matter and making our collective humanity far more real. Though tragic, I believe life sends us harsh messages to remind us of the things that transcend the material and revamp our awareness of the deeper things in life.

The destruction brought by Sandy has compelled some in my community of poets to take action. The Bards Initiative, a local poetry organization on Long Island, has banded together to create "Songs of Sandy (SOS)," a collection of poetry and reflections on the events of the storm, and other hurricane related subject matter. The anthology will be included in a disaster relief bundle, consisting of SOS, two ebooks, four poetry collections, an indie album, and recordings, videos, and performances from poets (myself included) and artists from around New York and abroad. 100% of the proceeds from the selling of this bundle will go toward disaster relief efforts in the wake of Sandy. For more information, and to learn when the bundle will become available, check out the official Songs of Sandy website. Interested in contributing? Submit your recordings, poems, reflections, videos, and/or performances at songsofsandy@gmail.com, but act fast! The deadline is November 13th (this Tuesday). 

One cannot help but think of the worst as we look at images of the damage on our laptops, TV screens, and phone (if we even have access to those things). Our own destruction looms in the back of our minds and is brought to the fore in gazing at such vivid imagery. Our things are temporary; the memories they carry are temporary. We are temporary. Hold close to the preciousness of this life, and don't let it be flooded beneath the weight of petty things. 

Chawdron

When the entire world has fallen away

You’ll find me steeped in rust,

Attempting to keep boredom at bay

By sifting through the dust.

Squalor to riches,

Night to day,

Death, the common lust;

Love asunder,

Knowledge astray,

And only a sliver of trust

Remained.

Blood soaked into the smattered loam,

Like decadent red velvet cake,

Arsenic had seized the foam

Of the sea, turned to bile, and ached.

Mud,

My tux,

A ghoulish husk,

Of what once claimed this dank mirage,

A lasting hush,

A creeping gust

That sluggishly patrols the hodgepodge.     

I toil to find

The remnants of mind,

And where the body lay

To rebuild Fate

From humdrum waste

And the world’s newfound decay.

I wish to confine 

What’s left of Time

To reclaim that soiled day.

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