Truth

Jealousy is a waste. The envy that I feel inside is bitter, destructive. Like anger, it has nowhere to go in all its futility.

All these negative emotions are like blackened clouds. They will grow and grow and then rain down their wrath and the drops of bleeding water and frozen angry chunks of hail will return to the vast ocean and the sun will return.

I’m pissed off, in spite of all the goodness around me and so, of course, I want to run, as though that would somehow change things.

But Truth remains stored away, locked in the deep places.

I don’t just take my own crazy, mixed-up self everywhere I go, but Truth also.

It is hard, this Truth. It demands to be reckoned with. Even when I just want to pound my fists at it, punching its chest over and over and over again.

It looks at my tenderly, even when I tell it to f off. It’s not pretty. Truth has been there for me, with me in the darkest nights, it’s what broke off my chains. But it got bruised and banged in the process.

Truth isn’t sexy and neither am I. We make quite a pair as we go together. But for all my anger, rage, and jealousy, I’m not giving up Truth.

It is costly, it is dear. And it remains. All else fades away.

Truth meets me when everyone else has gone home to sleep in light of morning.

Truth says, “Hey, baby, let’s go take a walk and watch the sunrise.”

Hand in hand we go...