What I am told. But what I am told is built on a canvas of lies. So, what should I believe when my belief is shaped by what I am told? What I am told, and I say that that is so even when what I am told is not possible for me to know.
Believing in the scarcely credible is giving yourself false confidence, and the unlikely to be true is what I am told that I should know. I open my heart and empty my mind so that what cannot be verified I can accept without the handicap of a questioning mind.
What I am told is what I do not need to know. If what I am told is not realistic, does not make sense, and is not uplifting and enlightening. So, what am I to believe when what I am told is designed to make a fool of me?
Empty is the head having a mind that refuses to think for itself. Where any and everything can be dumped into a hallow shell and find comfort within it. The things that I am told are not about the truth. They are about their unreal reality.
What I am told goes into one nostril and comes out of my behind. Yet what I am told is the foundation of my beliefs. A fantasy foundation that crumbles under scrutiny and falls apart in the slightest breeze.
What I am told is impossible to know without having the faith to believe that it is so, and faith without knowledge is like a shadow that appears without any light to produce it. So, what I am told I believe by faith without proof or knowledge.
I feel the warmth of life when I am in her arms. She is strong. She is beautiful. I do not need faith to know what I know about her. What I am told has nothing to do with her because I know she is the woman for me.
The empty head is filled by her presence, and all my questions are answered by her touch. I know this without being told when I investigate the smile for me that is in her eyes. What I am not being told, I know for sure.
I know that her dark brown skin makes my dark brown skin tingle. That yes and no means yes and no. And that the reality of she and I is the reality of nature as it is meant to be.
What I am told is that I should live in an illusionary world of shadows and that I should make this shadowy world my reality. What I am told is that I should adjust my life to conform to someone else’s standards and not even try to create quality standards of my own.
This is what I am told. And to what I am told, I say no. But what am I except a breath away from death? My thoughts and feelings are like falling leaves having no place to rest. One moment is all moments this I know to be so without being told as I hear and feel the fragility of my heart beating.
My path is defined by her outstretched hands beckoning me to her. In my mind, I have no wits that are apart from hers. The things I tell myself are all that I need to know about her.
And what I know about her is good for me. Darkness is the path to perfect blackness, and perfect blackness is the cosmos singing in harmony.
I live. I die. I die. I live. As one is the same as the other. And so, I kiss her hands, and I kiss her feet because what I am told cannot compare to doing this.