The double edge of hope – being a creature of story and of destiny, being a good solid teller of tales. These days I find myself wondering how close to the truth my art can take me, really? The truth of what my life was? What it is now and what it might be?
My belief in anything wavers against the winds of reality, hundreds of realities, piled one on top of the other throughout the ages.
But, I have heard that some seek hope elsewhere in some other reality – perhaps one of history or maybe one of spirit, or one of mind, who is to say? So much time now between us and all those miracles – who is foolish enough to hope about anything we can not see? Places we can not be? Every single one of us, really…
But I still don’t know if they’ve helped us bare it, or just created more longing for elsewhere.
So many ways to spin life, you see? Spin it away from things you don’t want to see. Lies to seek, symbols to piece together, stories to eat, all so you never have to look straight into the eyes of the Pink Fox – the medicine of :
“Nothing more than now, nothing more than you, nothing more than all the ways you lived with all that pain – just like all those who did before you.”
No more tricks, you see? Nothing up our sleeves. That is the medicine we need. Not the story that will make everything not what it seems. The Pink Fox slinks by just to say,
“It’s all about the courage to stay and not run away.”