I’ve been thinking a lot of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave recently.
Imagine prisoners tide up side by side in darkness placed in front of a blank stone wall. The prisoners can turn their heads nor move so that they can’t see one another. Behind them there is a fire and the captors have people walking in front of the fire with puppets so that it casts a shadow upon the wall the prisoners stare at. Any sounds and talk, these prisoners believe come from the shadows in the wall. This is the reality they live in and they have no knowledge of people or the captors behind them.
One day they are set free and have to crawl through a narrow tunnel to an opening into the outer world. When first reaching the outside they see the light of the sun and it’s blaring and painful because they’ve only known darkness their whole life. It hurts their eyes and burn their skin, so they retreat back into the comfort of their darkness into the only reality they’ve known their whole life, not understanding it’s been an illusion.
However a few realize there is something more outside and decide to go back into the light. Over time their eyes adjust and the sun feels good. They realize in that moment that the shadows they thought were real were only replications of what is real under the sun while some stay in the darkness, those who go outside can finally live free.
What I believe is the reality can hurt when you live in the comfort of illusion for so long, but eventually the light of reality is the only way to live a life beautiful and free.
allegoryofthecave #plato #reality #illusions #freedom #justiceforahmaudarbery
Little Clary asks, “what does the word God mean?”
And I think, “hmmm well he’s the word of creation, the one who created everything.”
“But he’s not real right,” questions, “because I can’t see him?”
“Well he means to have faith. You can’t see God because it takes faith, like love, you can’t see love but you feel love right?”
“Why did God make you so warm? I can’t see you warm but I can feel you warm.”
And he speaks poetry to me in every word he says.
“Yes baby, it’s like feeling warm.”
I fell a hundred times
Face planting into concrete and mud,
Painted scars making lines of red like markers from my cuts
Dripping down to the ground.
Bruised but not broken,
I got up to rise in the path I chose,
Walking off the path most trampled on.
A hundred times trying to step away,
To run back to my spirit screaming “come back!,”
A hundred times returning to where I belong,
Cuz the voice of my heart
Shouts so loud my mind can’t hide
From the call to be free from the confines of the normal kind
Of a life which could have been more safe and sound,
But happiness only in step on a road less traveled.
A hundred times
Shaking doubt and tired pursuit,
To live the life I can’t deny,
Because I was born this way
To rise above what was taught to those in my time.
Every day I thank the lord
For what I have today.
So many years to get me here,
So many tears to bring me near,
So many fears I’ve shed to peer
Into the light that made me clear
That I’ve been home all along,
Despite some doubts, though I’ve been wrong,
And all I had to do was jump,
Shattering walls and climb the hump,
Of fallacies and maladies,
To bring me to my seat beside
The throne where I belong.
What if I’m the part of my mom she’s ashamed of, so she says, “you’re a Rag!” With distaste.
It’s as if you walked out of the pages from my diary when I was twelve. It was my sacred diary with a castle on the cover and a cheap metallic painted lock with tiny key that held my deepest secrets. I had an untainted ideal of love and who my soulmate would be.
After years of convincing myself that man was a silly fantasy, here you stand.
Now and then I wish there wasn’t a hint of a stain.
It would make falling in love simple,
But a piece of me is at peace with everything because that slight makes me believe this life is real.
Life is real
Life is real
Life is real.
And that’s magnificent!
I have been shattered into a thousand pieces
And those who love puzzles have tried to piece me back together,
Each confident they made me whole,
Manipulating some of the pieces that wouldn’t fit and wedging them in to fill in the gaps,
Not realizing that each time I was taken apart,
That I couldn’t be the same.
And some pieces no longer belonged.
And it pained me to have someone mold me to their idea of completion.
When all I needed was to be received with holes, broken, and left over pieces.
I wasn’t done with you,
And premature evacuation sucks.