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suffering is real,
and is not true.

love is real,
and is the truest.

:::

when viewed as a resource

rather than as a reward,

money succumbs to its pride

and fills an empty glass

with water from its own glass.

:::

under the deceptive hands

of the Magician,

i dropped to my knees

and found a new vision;

an old compass with an honest arrow

was pointing in the direction

i was supposed to take all along;

a year's worth of isolation

has taught me well that

in crawling out from the burning building,

there are no riches;

all that remains is my life

and the flash image of my life

without those lives whom i hold dear---

in it.

     life is begging for us to know

     our greatest treasure---

     our greatest wealth---

     lies within human relationships

     and our shared experiences.

     truly, the greatest of all,

     is how we attend to the richness

     of those relationships.

:::

about this life,

there is nothing absolute.

only through our own eyes

do we try to make it so;

the true masterpiece

is a blank canvas---

beneath which we paint a lie

we believe to be true.

:::

pain is the most beautiful bridge;

it persistently announces itself

as a place to be crossed.

not to be ignored.

never to be destroyed.

for without it, a connection between

perpetual hurt and preeminent healing

would cease to exist.