Because the truth of the matter is:
     we all want honesty without philosophy,
                            luxury without misery,
                            credibility without reality.
So let me ask again:
    do you want the innocence of oblivious bliss —
    to numb yourself of your anxiety and agony,
    telling you to surround yourself in desolate isolation
    and let the days slip by without pain or adversity
    so you can pretend that this is life,
    the comforts and consolations
    that spead out like fleeting
    constellations of
    burnt-out stars
    long dead —
or do you want the cold, cruel, chilling truth?

How catastrophic, this all-or-nothing thinking.
Such tribalism, our black-and-white coordination.
    Must we pick truth over comfort or comfort over truth
    like the tarot’s startling death or falling tower?
        Or may we walk toward honesty and hang at its edge
        with dignity, with integrity, with fallen grace
        for forty days with little rest or reprieve?

May our hearts soften and open with graceful gentleness
as you see your suffering in a cold new light.