27 July 2008

the world is truth's clothing

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I once knew a guy who told me he was humble to truth alone. Everyone thought he was the cockiest cuss going. I found him the very quintessence of humility. I could spend every minute of the rest of eternity with him and never run out of things to say and hear and discuss at phantasmagorical length and depth. I can't get over that post by the estimable Les Visible the other day, most particularly that line. He reminds me of my infinitude of humility cocky cuss. I don't think he knows what he said. [UPDATE: HE ABSOLUTELY, UNEQUIVOCALLY DOES NOT KNOW WHAT HE SAID.] I think maybe he has the outlines, has it in his intellect, his walking around mind, and I think maybe he will know, but, anyway, I wonder if you can imagine what a relief it was to me to run across him.

When the Truth takes off Her clothes, the World disappears.

I wish I could kiss him. I have not fallen in love with him. But that is how it feels to be so near the truth. It feels precisely like falling in love. It takes some getting used to. It takes all kinds of strength and fortitude and forgetting of self and it feels better than anything, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever... sex included... I'm not lying, and I know what I'm talking about.

Think of what is hidden by clothes. Think what's made to look better, or worse, or smarter, or fancier, or uglier, or ... by clothes. That's what the world does to truth. We need to see her naked. Everything depends on it.

You can't see her naked until you can see yourself before your skin.

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