Silence

Footsteps of ancient ghosts as dried brown leaves skitter down the street driven along by a bitter wind. Holding hands and skipping with scattered flakes of flurries from a sky half grey and dismal half bright blue and gay. Silence, like truth is always elusive a myth perhaps like gods and the deeds of hero’s. What silence may be found is fleeting and precious. Perhaps deep underground in the pristine darkness of a cave shattered only by a single drop of water into an unseen pool and echo around deep within desire, longing, hope. Truth, sought out as fixed unchanged reality is revealed as illusion. Reality is the moment and truth resides within the moment and when the moment passes to be replaced by the next so also passes truth. Although to be fair lies are no more or less than truth when it comes to the moments which together comprise eternity. Each truth, each lie, each god, each deed, each drop of rain, each flake of snow. Grasp if you wish or try to comprehend or frolic in the bliss of ignorance. Believe in gods if you must, perform heroic deeds if you can, listen to the leaves on the wind and the silence of truth as it passes by mixed and concealed by the incessant noise made by the lies of men.