My teacher told me to write about Illusion and the Truth.
I wrote Illusions on the left side of my journal
and Truth responded on the right.
Until it became obvious
they were opposing each other.
Ha!
“Where exactly do you meet?” I wrote.
And discovered, then, the binding,
A slit so narrow, there aren’t any words there.
I will write you a book of Truth and Illusion,
but where I rest is
in the binding.
The place where consciousness is born and breathes,
writing out the pages of a story
that holds together only by what binds it.
— Lorraine
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