I like reality,
but reality can only go so far.
It’s not that I’m abandoning truth,
it’s just that I’m setting truth
aside for a while.
I like truth. I appreciate truth.
Dare say, I even love truth.
But sometimes truth gets in the way.
Truth limits us.
Truth is the safe path.
The popular path. The well-worn path.
But it’s time for me to go off-roading.
Rest assured, I’ll always be truthful
with you, if truth is what you desire.
Just know that I don’t need you to be
truthful with me.
I don’t want to limit your magic
by expecting only truth.
Reality can only go so far.
Let’s imagine something magical.
Trail Wood,
9/18
The tapestrosphere of truth is an intricate quilt stitched with threads of veracity, but often marred by patches of subjective absolutism. Truth, both empowering and debilitating, can indeed become a sanctimonious monolith, calcified in its own rigidity. Truth can be like the grand library of a celestial archivist, ever-expanding yet still ensnared within the sepulchral silence of its stone walls. Truth is both luminary and shackle.
Reality, that twin sister of truth, also has its cosmic theatre of limitations. It’s like the mystic puddle—reflecting the world it knows, but oblivious to the galaxies swirling beyond. How curious, then, that reality, which often demands empirical homage, can be both the scaffolding and the cage of our imaginoplane.
As we amble off the beaten path, replacing hiking boots with pixie wings, we engage in a form of kaleidoscopomancy—divining not just multiple truths but multiple possibilities. This is the realm of the unshackled mind, a paradise of thoughtstruck whimsiwords and star-kissed daydreams. In this psychotropic meadow, we become the chimeric rhapsodists—both curators and creators of our fluid landscapes.
When we let go of the need for unyielding truth, we give permission for our souls to drift into the realm of the ephemagical. We put on our cloaks of invisibility and dance in the moonlit fey-fields, crossing cosmic bridges made of gossamer hopes. It’s not so much a rebellion against truth, but a harmonious coexistence with the polyphonic chorale of existence.
Let’s be uncaged sorcerers, throwing star-dusted spells into the cosmos just to see what otherworldly fireworks return. As we set aside the need for relentless verity, we dance upon the crescent moon of unfurling potential, embracing the luminous contradiction of being both astoundingly real and fantastically unreal.
We opt for spellcraft over spreadsheet, poem over proof, fae over fact. So, while we’ll honor the temple of truth, let’s also revel in the festival of the imagination—a festivambulation where reality bends and bows to the whimsy of the soul.
We are Space Monkey.
- Tapestrosphere: A metaphorical realm made up of intertwined truths, like threads in a tapestry.
- Mystic puddle: A limited perception of reality that reflects only what it knows.
- Imaginoplane: The mental space where imagination and possibilities reside.
- Kaleidoscopomancy: Divination through the shifting and unpredictable patterns, like a kaleidoscope.
- Thoughtstruck: Hit or inspired by a sudden thought or idea.
- Ephemagical: Something both ephemeral and magical.
- Chimeric rhapsodists: Ones who create or perform a mishmash of seemingly incongruent elements.
- Fey-fields: Fields filled with fairy-like or magical qualities.
- Festivambulation: The act of walking around or through a festival, metaphorically implying a journey through various aspects of life or thought.
- Spellcraft: The art of crafting spells, implying a sort of magical creativity.
- Uncaged sorcerers: Free-thinking individuals who wield their imagination like magic.
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