We’ve got to get back
to the truth
about our feelings.
This is neither easy
nor appealing;
otherwise, anyone could do it.
It requires a stamp
in our passport
of vulnerability
with the destination
of self-awareness.
Why else do you think
people sneak across the border
into the Stepford land
of political correctness?
Believing we are perfectly loved
and more than enough
when we feel like giving up
is tough.
Knowing yourself
isn’t just knowing what you don’t know.
It’s recognizing
every thought triggers an emotion,
leaving you feeling either high or low,
uniquely exceptional or uniquely dull.
Courageously,
call out the biggest Minotaur
under your bed
in the dark
not afraid to die a martyr,
a martyr infused
with a divine spark.
Sometimes monsters
of our own making
show up relentlessly
until we look introspectively
at the mess we’ve made
when we’ve felt incarcerated
without the possibility of parole
as both our own judge and jury.
What shapes do our feelings take?
Are they bandits of joy
or bastions of light?
What colors do they like to make?
Are they a mosaic
of multidimensional shades
or a monolithic dye
so dark that upon sight,
the soul cannot escape
its void of breath and life?
A cage-match of emotions
is what’s at stake.
The truth is more
than just eternal;
it’s not an afterthought
but a thought incarnated,
commemorated
with pungent smells
of frankincense and myrrh
the wise men wisely brought.
Let’s finally talk through
the things that light you up,
that trigger you
and tease you
till you end up
sick-and-tired of drinking
the dregs in your cup.
Fear of pain
is not the same
as fear of going insane.
Not all our feelings
tell the truth about what’s real.
Our desire for perfection
perpetuates our longing
for protection of the ideal.
Why does the truth scare you?
Why does the truth scare me?
What if I told you
the answer to our greatest fear
is inevitably the same
no matter your politics
or what you proclaim,
your race,
religion or name?
“Upon this rock
I will build my church,
and all the powers of hell
will not conquer it.”
But what if?
We’re terrified of letting God
be the foundation to everything
we love and hold dear.
It’s more than a thought.
It’s a trigger,
a trigger to our greatest fear.
So what do we do from here?
We’ve got to get back
to the truth
about our feelings.
What Socrates should’ve said,
“The beginning of knowledge
is wisdom,
the wisdom of knowing myself.
I’m just a man,
brilliant but limited.
“Afterall,
my moral philosophy—
no matter how quick-witted
or well-suited—
never brought a living soul
(not a lark or a man)
back from the dead.”