The truth is kind:
that’s what I call this place for images, writing, thinking out loud.
I’ve been thinking about the meaning of this a lot.
The past few weeks, months, and even years have been tumultuous. I have made a lot of changes. I live in a new place. I have made new friends. I have said goodbye to grandparents and uncles and cousins.
My heart has moved a lot more than the rest of my body. My heart has made me want to do a lot of things. I don’t always understand why my heart works the way it does. I cannot understand why the heart makes others do and say things, either.
I trace my thoughts back, way back, back to the simplest ideas I have about truth. Compasses and landmarks and glowing monuments. Glass. Gold. Light.
I think about what truth makes me feel, what it makes other people feel, what it gives us. Peace. Confidence. Clarity. Closure. Rest.
But it brings conflict, doubt, worry, fear, a need to defend. Frustration. Division. Fury.
I think about truth outside of my own life, defining and experiencing it in a vacuum, away from very real struggles, away from beauty and joy. The truth is the same inside and outside of hypotheticals. But we don’t know what to do with it. It is too lofty for me. I think I know what is right, what will bring peace, change, rest, what will restore things seemingly broken.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that the truth is kind. Indulgent, benevolent, gentle, helpful. These words aren’t enough to fully describe what it is to be face to face with the truth.
I want to know what it is to experience the kindness that is truth, to know what to do with it, to let it do what it needs to do in my heart and the hearts of others, to keep from commandeering it, to let it run or flow or ruin something that I cling to, to have it change the landscape of the present, to show me what is ahead when I cannot see beyond right now, to destroy my pride and the pride of others in order to bring true rest.