On Truth and God

I come now, having pulled the string from my teeth.

Arriving at the shore, drenched, and covered in sand.

“The truth is God,” he said.

But who said?

And where did I come from?

The underworld is full of lies, and being thrust from it leaves one exquisitely disarrayed.

But the path is true, and so the past matters not.

“If the truth is God, then God must be truth,” I thought.

It makes perfect sense.

And when truth dies, it dies for the very idea of ‘you’, and all its lies.

He told me that all people have traded their truth for such lies. There is no one that rests in reality. And but a few to shoulder it.

“This is why the world has fallen.”

“But can one find his way back?”

“Do you not see?”

“But how can one stay here?”

“You ask how to dam the seas of hell in hopes it won’t rise to the heavens? Your battle takes place here, and it is yours alone.”

(Between Heaven and Hell?)

“The eternal struggle. I’m acquainted with the idea.”

He saw my Self take hold.

“It need not be a struggle, friend. A true path burns bright as it wisps away your darkness. Allow it the space and oxygen to burn, and you will continuously die and be reborn.”

“Only a God could die and be reborn.”

“This is the way.”

(Birth by Death?)

“Death isn’t something to be feared,” he asserted. “It can only lead to new beginnings. To resist death is to resist truth. Remember this: the only lasting truth is change. All things dismember. But the power to remember them is yours. Use it cautiously . . . for just as one can remember truth, so can one remember lies.”

“This is what it means to fall,” I muttered.

“The underworld is a narrow plain of untruth. And the Self feeds off this untruth. It is only here that it can thrive.”

“But why is this? Why would anyone choose to live this way?”

“People live this way because it’s all they’ve ever known. And so it is here they seek to ‘build their lives’. This is what is meant by the truth dies for you. Truth must die for lies to take hold.”

“That sounds a lot like . . .”


We both paused. I cannot recall for how long.

“Please . . . continue.”

“This world is but a theme park housing fake prizes and rides to nowhere. To wake up is to see this theme park for what it is, and what it has done to you. See the destruction and decay; the garbage and the rubble. Feel the emptiness, and the stickiness of the empty theater floor.”

“And so truth is the one and only antidote to this?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“How can truth have such power?”

“Because it’s the only thing that’s real.”

. . . a breath . . .

“Truth is reality, and this is meant entirely in the practical sense. Do not lose your way chasing fleeting fantasies of spirituality. This is but another wing of the theme park, strategically placed near the path of truth.”

“The truth is not an escape,” he continued. “It’s the direct route to what is. And only in reality can one become intimate with that which binds him. Only then can the phoenix rise from the ashes. Only then can the angel find its wings.”

“Knowing all of this, it seems I have no choice,” I confessed.

“You can grit your teeth in agony for as long as you like. Once you know, you know. And soon you will come to learn that to have no choice is freedom. To have no choice is bliss. It releases you from a great burden, and leads to a natural state of being. The only reason you would act unnatural, is if you didn’t know the truth.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me . . . it was you that brought you here.”