The Lies We Tell

Focus on the present, they say.
Meditate, they say.
What about God, they say.
God is good for most things, if you don’t think about it too hard.

Some things they don’t say,
Like how off the leash, a mind will wander
And it’s hellscapes in all directions.
Milieus of horror in which familiar beasts
Crouch on their haunches, waiting to feed.
I can tell you for sure; I’ve seen them, their grasping claws sting.

Practice mindfulness, they say
Take each day as it comes, they say.
What about religion, they say.
Nobody has ever had a bad word to say about religion.

Some things they don’t say,
Like how with eyes tightly closed, on a simple sunny day,
An unwelcome glimpse of that
Inky spill of eternity
Might paint the insides of your eyelids.
A looming, not just of death; the sudden stop.
But beyond, where silence presides
Over stars that flicker out
One by one.

The whole thing so improbable
On any sunny morning,
When the steam ripples from your coffee on the breeze
And the wooden boards of the patio feel cool under your feet.

Life is what you make it, they say.
Find your passion, they say.
We can all achieve our dreams if we just try really hard, they say.
That’s never gone wrong for anyone who tried really hard.

Some things they don’t say,
Like how one evening, you will be sitting in an empty room
Still and silent as any tomb, with life piled up behind you
Like tangled string,
Wondering about the things you did
And didn't do,
All those ones you never got around to
And whether they meant
Anything at all.
And you will think,
Perhaps they never meant anything at all.
Maybe none of it meant anything at all.

Live for today, they say.
Be in the moment, they say
Pay no mind to the absurdity, they say
It’s only the price of admission.

Some things they don’t say,
Like how dread creeps in the small hours.
That time when worries are unearthed
And turned over and over,
Like a smooth pebble in the hand.
That time when, against better judgement,
On some dim and uneasy nights
You keep digging until you uncover one
That still retains its jagged edge.

And for a fleeting moment you understand
everything there is to understand about fear.

Then with a humdrum click,
The soft spill of light from a lamp chases away the darkness,
And the inevitable becomes
Surely improbable,
With the patter of the rain on the windowpane
And the comfort of quiet breathing beside you.