To endeavor to understand the truth is like sparring bare-knuckle with confusion, frustration, and pain, or like entertaining the feelings of Van Gogh the moment before his demise. But to understand is like dancing with the emotions of Einstein when he discovered mass and energy have a bond, and to understand is to conquer the material world without unsheathing the tempered blade or firing the cannons.

The past gave reason for the passion. The heavens gave meaning to the lies. From a whisper in a living wind, grows a glimmer in my eyes. And strive I do, through the chambers of my inner self. And claim the prize I do, the key for the door I’ll face after the body falls.

I was built like this, a chameleon in essence, and I naturally become my environments. To that extent, to be or not to be? Wait, let me rephrase. What be the thing I’m bred to be? The two conditions of my humanity, my invisible and my biology, take shape according to my realities, and regrettably, in a world built by shepherd-less egos, half of me hibernates.

I don’t want to live and die a lie. So I sacrifice... I try... I live against the wind and pretend to fly.

Through public policy, we can journey down a road less traveled. Through public policy, we can remedy the many problems. But first, public policy should be written to serve the public. Regrettably, the politicians fiddle while we, the new Romans, slowly turn to ashes.

Please rephrase my presence to illustrate persistence. Please rephrase my presence to illustrate resistance. With the ups and downs of a realist’s existence, please rephrase the sentence to illustrate indifference.

Most people wait until retirement to think about the ideas I tackle.  I couldn’t wait that long.  What good is the truth when death knocks at the door? I desire to live truthful so I knocked first.

Love me or hate me, I have no loyalty to any religion. I give all my loyalty to the truth, regardless of truth’s origins. May the truth reside in the Old, the New, the Qur’an, the Vedas, the Gathas, or the Guru Granth. May the truth reside in the poor, the meek, the ugly, or the mud.

Like a snowflake that never melts—like a tornado that doesn’t swirl—like a lightning bolt fashioned in the workshop of an angel—the soul is more. The true “I” is built as a demi-god.