Will you place your right hand on the Bible and raise your left hand, swearing your personal truth? A white lie, maybe a little fib. We’ll never know. There’s a hole so deep that it never fills. So wide it swallows everything around it. A Swiss cheese of emptiness. That which cannot empty. No matter how much stuff you stick in it. A bottomless pit of undigested half-truths floating around the place. There are holes in everything. Truth lost its toothy bite. No taste for half-baked realities. You can’t eat the truth.
You can’t win. The lies outweigh the facts of your fiction. To exist in real time in a true world of timeless wonder. Parallel reality is not always the real deal or the right way forward to reach the goal of achieving a hole in one. The ultimate solution for this world of problems is to create the illusion of trust as advertised. Your truth is a lie to another who needs a better reason to believe. Swear to tell it like it was. There’s no value in telling it like it is because it no longer exists the way it was before becoming another lie. Therefore, untrue. Seeds of truth sprout lies.
This murky gray area where solid objects become thin projections of light particles in a vastness of the space between your ears, hidden behind your eyes. The weird object of your desire or repulsion of the precise place in question. The wrong answer to the question never posed. That space is reserved for convenient lies. We grow restless with the world of lies, in truth, just as well as true lies in the world of past and present times changing the storyline. There can be no right without wrong. No gods without demons. The darkness envelops the light. A single piece in the equation. A mote floating in the soup’s cosmic stew. Moving so fast that it catches up with itself and becomes multiple particulates moving simultaneously in the same space, filling itself up with its own energy. The magic happens without any real locomotion or power source to move of its own accord. Yet, it does.
The spooky action isn’t only about how much the object in question will move or the path it takes to make it appear. A bunch of distinct parts all moving around simultaneously. It’s only one particular particle vibrating in a random direction. The synergy between these dissimilar objects is only one part of the puzzle equation. Dissociate objects repel each other’s energy. There’s one element of this problem that can explain how we travel through time transformed from now to later. As the past lives in the present, the future moves forward standing still. Slowly evolving into a singular object. The event is the beginning of time and the end of life as we know it. The give-and-take reciprocation of moments in progress. A process of time without meaning or measure. The momentum of immovable objects bouncing back from times infinite energy. The timeless life of one speck of dust floating in deep, dead space. It is impossible to grasp the concept of time and space when you have neither to compare against the rest.
This makes many feel as though they have no control. No freedom of choice. To be kind in a cruel world of dangerous people and the consequences that come with them. There are no limits, no rules apply. The mission to protect us from ourselves. Our own worst enemy is the one to blame. Who else is there? The senseless knowledge of knowing that one never knows. This is the way of life without actually living. A life without knowing. Without being aware of the outcome. Wrinkles in time, decays the moment it starts. Over long before it even begins. It makes no sense to be so happy or sad about something you can’t see clearly or understand. The matter is what matters most. Show what you’re made of. It’s only natural.
Shaped by the negative spaces that mark our existence, the empty holes that define imaginary boundaries of what we believe to be true. Spending entire lifetimes circling the perimeters of these gaps, searching for something solid to cling to, only to find that crack solidifies itself is smoky mirrors—a trick of the mindfully ignorant. The stories we tell ourselves and others, layered with hopes and fears, colored by the shifting light of memory and desire, where fact and fiction meet and blur. Regret is not an emotion. No need to lie about anything but the truth. And nothing but.