The ‘fact’ of my actions frequently collide with the ‘fiction’ of my words. And at what point will I live what I say, so I will avoid what I do?

Too often fear is fiction madly running amuck, all the while madly tracking ‘muck’ across the floor of fact.

If I assume the ‘truth’ to be negotiable based on whether or not it serves my agenda, then my agenda has become my ‘truth.’ And the ‘truth’ of the matter is, when I do this I’ve chosen to take a treacherous path through some very deep woods where neither path nor woods exist.

Truth speaks for itself if we’d just let it speak.

If truth is relative, then it’s cousin is anarchy.

To live a lie may allow us to avoid the truth, but the real lie lays in believing that we can avoid the truth in the first place.