Thursday, December 6, 2012

You Army, I Am Being

The secret truth about the secret truth
Is that we all know it, all hide out in it,
All distinguish it from the play,
The show, the scenery, the game,
The theatrical simulation that is not
The secret truth, as we all know,

And we all, being you and whose army
And I, know something else we don't know,
Or don't notice, which is that freedom
Must for us exist only in the unreal,
The play, the pretend, the game,
Because it is, we say, in the end,
Only illusion, which is the truth of it.

We may fight to the death over the rules
And over where the boundaries of the rules begin.
We always do disagree, and preach
Disagreements as being not games
About whether the secret truth we preach
Begins in our heads or outside our heads,
In language or before language,
In genes, in stars, in matter, or in divinity.

But we don't disagree that there's
A difference between what's not
Important and what is, between
The serious, secret truth (this is
The secret truth) and the not-to-be believed.
And it's only in the former we place
The distinction between fair and foul,
And it's only in the latter we are free.

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