The Timing of Truth
The sunrise colors over the mountain
and reflects on the lake.
You sit at the end of the rickety dock.
In the distance, a boat cuts the water.
There are places to do.
But not for you.
All your travel lives within.
Days of this stillness, letting the world
drift away like morning fog.
It has been a long journey
and there is always wheat
to separate from the chaff,
a slow process, a winnowing
of panic and pain from the truth,
never done well in haste,
in the whirlwind of emotion.
No, the truth takes time to rise
from the lies, distractions and poisons
that live within.
And so, now and again, you leave it all.
Even the things you love most,
You reclaim the silence that leads to truth.
You become yourself. A simple creature,
far simpler than most people believe,
A creature better able to release those things
that need releasing, and far more able
to tell the difference.
About this poem
I utterly failed in what I set out to do this morning. It was to be an essay about finding the truth of things like the coronavirus, local gossip, and the strange world of news/fake news we live in.
But the muse had other ideas. It became about finding the truth within instead. It became this. One thing I have learned over the years. Never argue with the muse.
The picture was taken at one of the many nearby lakes.