beyond uncomfortable truth

beyond uncomfortable truth,

by nuance comprehension.

no conclusion stands for long,

either by a change in the lighting

or by the nature of belief as not longstanding. 

look, every fact is a fashion statement.

all behavior is a meme.

what do you take from the experience of others?

only a reflection of yourself in disguise.

until you are all of human expression clear,

your soul will hide from complete presence.

you can't evolve from merit.

wisdom is only knowledge with a bow.

there has to come the unveiling 

of the human predicament as self.

you are all beings, all motives,

all actions and all accounts.

your spirit can be aware

as your soul is all absolving.

if you have a moral burr up your ass

than you have a reason or reasons to be here.

the concept of moral is leveraged and privy.

there is no transformation as moral.

it is all observational and account

in that style of existence.

can't be at source without a life full of mirrors.

uncomfortable truth is really stage presence.

when the act has no audience,

stages pass by. 

we are all unrealized as the life of everyone.

dare to venture into the experience of that?

so how vast can you come to experience your soul?

or how much will your soul allow you to venture?

the beings, tight with the 'all'

are conversely, also tight with the 'none'.

demystified reality has neither 

as positions to be taken.

nuance does not live for exposure.

one goes to it 

not it just suddenly appears.

comprehension there is soul-talk.

for it's not you in the isolation of self-talk.

it's where we are all one, one soul,

as a medium without limitations as it means.

where feel has more dimensions 

that thought could conger. 

nuance is a warm blanket, 

made out of atrocities' isolationistic claims.

to see beyond the fabric of apparent circumstance,

to see madness weeping inconsolably, 

unconscious to its acts of diabolical prayer,

is to see the flash-floods of self in isolation

having their moments in time

and subsequently subsiding, 

as all events do.

chaos is a sacred prayer.

but who of us has the lips, the sound, 

the source within

to sing it until heart choruses 

and soul is clearly the never-ending choir? . . .