“Discrepancies”

Discrepancies arise,
     As time moves on for us,
          If we will just be patient –
              Waiting for
                   It’s still-unfolding
                        Ring of quiet truth.

She said,
     “Most gullible you are
           My friend – I used to be
                As well,
                     But found it interfered
                          With life
                               As it is lived,
                                    And work I had to do.

“For people tell
     You pretty much
          What comes to mind,
               And mind most complex is;
                    Within our daily
                         Give-and-take –
                              Who cares?”

I thought a lot
     About that estimate –
          Perceiver-type, for sure
               Most accurate – but no –

Though it was true
     It did not matter
          For, when disengaged
               From all the world,
                    It still provided
                        What was requisite,
                               My task to do
                                    Of Jubilee
                                         Once more.

And so today
     Those truths abide
          And serve my purposes
               And tasks
                    Within
                         This life –

Tasks,
     Not tasks of service,
          Order,
               Insight,
                    Or the rest;

But tasks
     Of liberation
          Of the self,
               Or group,
                    Within the larger frame
                         Of lives
                              Enslaved
                                   From oh
                                        So many
                                             Purposes
                                                  In life.

Discrepancies –
     Surprised I always am
          When they emerge at last,
               And truth
                    Displays its essence
                         As some jarring piece,
                              Refusing to be tucked
                                   Back in
                                        To some
                                             Now bulging
                                                  Bag.

For truth
     Will out,
           If we be patient
               And await
                    Emergence of the parts
                         Which can’t be hid,
                              ’Midst subterfuge
                                   Of deft
                                        Concealing
                                             Minds.

I doubt
     A person can
          Withhold
               Or cover up
                    As well as mind,
                         When set at ease,
                              Can dodge and shift
                                   Through fantasy
                                        In life.

So –
     Let it run,
          And romp,
               And play –
                    It matters not –

In fact –
     When loosed
          To do what it does well,
                It does itself
                     Spin fiction
                          Quite sublime.

Same fiction that I spin,
     Which deep within
          Holds echoes of the truth
               Our minds conceal
                    From even
                         Us –
                              Especially
                                   Us.

And so
     The stories go,
          And spin,
               And play
                    So freely
                         In the light,
                             Which
                                  Normally
                                       Come out to play
                                            When darkness falls –

And we,
     Within the silence
          And the
               Shelter of our
                    Darkened rooms,

Play out
     Our silent fantasies,
          In dream-like states
               Resolving
                    In the morn
                         Those truths
                              We need to hear,
                                    But
                                         So resistant are –

We much
      Prefer to
           Shut them
                Down.

But
     Then there comes
          That telltale fact –
               That slip of tongue,
                    Revealing truth
                         Beneath such
                              Subterfuge –

There –
     There it is!
          What was that word
               You used just now?

No,
     No, not that one,
          The one before –
               There,
                    There it is –
                         A-ha!

And then the truth is out,
     The truth our minds resist
          Yet yearn to have revealed,
               As we press onward
                     From the
                          Darkened corners
                               Of our
                                     ’Prisoned
                                          Selves.

Relief!
     Release indeed!
          And we?
                Freed up indeed –

Through joyful
     Play of words
          And thoughts,
               Spun into
                    Threads –
                         Then yarn –
                              Then
                                   Tapestries of truth –
                                        Concealed
                                             With
                                                   Subterfuge
                                                        Of stories
                                                             Which we spin.

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