Autobiographicalbunk

It’s pure fantasy to believe anyone could fully reveal their soul on the pages of a book  called an autobiography.

Are we to believe that these written words are somehow more true than the actions of the person that lived them?

If they lied through their lives, do we not fully suspect they will lie through the pages?

If they were honest and true, have they not  revealed themselves already?

We aspire to be heroes and martyrs; thieves and lovers; sinners and saints.

To believe a man has somehow fully come to terms with the all the thoughts that are his own is foolishness and folly.

Thoughts forgotten and abandon in fits of rage.

Thoughts lost in the daily struggle to find a purpose for our lives.

Thoughts that cannot be verbalized for the shame they bring.

Secret thoughts so coveted that we hope the grave will not reveal.

Thoughts of our own demise and the plans we made.

Moments  that words would tarnish.

Dreams that became realities and realities that became nightmares.

No, there is no  ‘tell all’ and no words to reveal who we truly are.

We are a prisoner to most of our thoughts; never revealed to any – unable and unwilling.

Our true biography can only be the life we’ve lead and never captured by a pen.

In the end, even that which we would reveal is but speck of dust gathered from the floor of our mind.

You’ll never know all that there is of anyone. 

Even if  they desired to have you know all that there is – the depth and breadth of a man cannot be documented with a pen or spoken in a word. 

What they wanted you to know, they hung on your heart and revealed through their eyes.

The rest are just words on a page, subject to the flame, bound by the limits of language and imagination.  No more or less truthful than the man who lived them.

Be sure to read the story of those you love while they remain.  

The story is written in every encounter.  In the words they speak and the deeds they do;  in a passing glance and a heart exposed. 

That’s our biography.  The tapestry of memories of all those you’ve ever known or touched. 

That’s our story, written on their hearts.

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Somewhere Between REM and Reality…

There’s a place in our mind where we linger,

perhaps too long,

maybe not long enough;

somewhere between REM and reality.  

It’s not a dream, but it’s the place of dreams.  

It’s not reality, but it’s absolutely real.

It’s a place where we see how it MIGHT be;

how it COULD be;

how it MUST be! 

It’s where we keep all we wish to BE.  

It’s where our favorite song plays.

It’s where we resolve the troubles of the day.  

It’s a place where we find HOPE;

And HOPE lingers…

Somewhere between REM and Reality.