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Henri-Frederic Amiel

An error is the more dangerous in proportion to the degree of truth which it contains.

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In the spirit of Rumi - 25

I said to My Beloved
Tell me the measure of truth
My Beloved said
Tell me first what you know of truth

‘One and one make two,
- as You and I’
My Beloved said
Tell me more of truth

‘Love draws me to You
as the white moth to the candle’s flame’
My Beloved said
Tell me more of truth

‘Love makes You and me
into one single perfect love’
My Beloved said
This is the measure of truth
which is immeasurable:

the greater the truth
the less it can be measured;
the greater the truth
the deeper it may be experienced;

this is its measure: its experience.
Truth has no other measure,
for only love can measure truth.

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The Stature of Truth

Watch them closely.
Your greater life depends on this.
See their bodies, watch their faces,
listen to their sound, which is
now the sound that we all own.

Now see your self, seeing them;
watch your self, watching them;
listen to your self, listening
to yourself. This is the moment
grace graces us. Our grace.

This shelf-stacker with
a battered face; this
village lady with a homely build;
this child, who, simply, sings
as if that could not be more natural:
see them; watch them; listen to the sound.

See them in profile: nobility
now shapes their face;
this is what heroes are,
heroes who await our call.

They have surrendered to their self;
was it we who called them?
Are there times when truth itself
is impatient of release; cannot wait
for us to earn that?

Perhaps just a few bars, as the song
begins to take them over,
sings, them; perhaps the climax of the song,
when all we can do is wildly clap,
applaud ourselves for what they’ve told us
that we always knew: we too, heroes,
heroines, waiting for the call
to be ourselves:

for a few bars, their stature
is beyond measure; remind yourself,
you saw it, watched them, listened:
listened to the sound which says
this, my sound, is the sound
that can do anything. anything:
now I make the world anew.

For a few bars, they tell us
this, this is who we are,
every one of us; this is
what talent’s given for; this,
what we were made for;
this is how great we are.

This is the sound of truth
singing the truth of truth itself;
this is what grace can do.
This is who we are.

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The Shadow And The Light

The fourteen centuries fall away
Between us and the Afric saint,
And at his side we urge, to-day,
The immemorial quest and old complaint.

No outward sign to us is given,--
From sea or earth comes no reply;
Hushed as the warm Numidian heaven
He vainly questioned bends our frozen sky.

No victory comes of all our strife,--
From all we grasp the meaning slips;
The Sphinx sits at the gate of life,
With the old question on her awful lips.

In paths unknown we hear the feet
Of fear before, and guilt behind;
We pluck the wayside fruit, and eat
Ashes and dust beneath its golden rind.

From age to age descends unchecked
The sad bequest of sire to son,
The body's taint, the mind's defect;
Through every web of life the dark threads run.

Oh, why and whither? God knows all;
I only know that He is good,
And that whatever may befall
Or here or there, must be the best that could.

Between the dreadful cherubim
A Father's face I still discern,
As Moses looked of old on Him,
And saw His glory into goodness turn!

For He is merciful as just;
And so, by faith correcting sight,
I bow before His will, and trust
Howe'er they seem He doeth all things right.

And dare to hope that Tie will make
The rugged smooth, the doubtful plain;
His mercy never quite forsake;
His healing visit every realm of pain;

That suffering is not His revenge
Upon His creatures weak and frail,
Sent on a pathway new and strange
With feet that wander and with eyes that fail;

That, o'er the crucible of pain,
Watches the tender eye of Love
The slow transmuting of the chain
Whose links are iron below to gold above!

Ah me! we doubt the shining skies,
Seen through our shadows of offence,
And drown with our poor childish cries
The cradle-hymn of kindly Providence.

And still we love the evil cause,
And of the just effect complain
We tread upon life's broken laws,
And murmur at our self-inflicted pain;

We turn us from the light, and find
Our spectral shapes before us thrown,
As they who leave the sun behind
Walk in the shadows of themselves alone.

And scarce by will or strength of ours
We set our faces to the day;
Weak, wavering, blind, the Eternal Powers
Alone can turn us from ourselves away.

Our weakness is the strength of sin,
But love must needs be stronger far,
Outreaching all and gathering in
The erring spirit and the wandering star.

A Voice grows with the growing years;
Earth, hushing down her bitter cry,
Looks upward from her graves, and hears,
'The Resurrection and the Life am I.'

O Love Divine!--whose constant beam
Shines on the eyes that will not see,
And waits to bless us, while we dream
Thou leavest us because we turn from thee!

All souls that struggle and aspire,
All hearts of prayer by thee are lit;
And, dim or clear, thy tongues of fire
On dusky tribes and twilight centuries sit.

Nor bounds, nor clime, nor creed thou know'st,
Wide as our need thy favors fall;
The white wings of the Holy Ghost
Stoop, seen or unseen, o'er the heads of all.

O Beauty, old yet ever new!
Eternal Voice, and Inward Word,
The Logos of the Greek and Jew,
The old sphere-music which the Samian heard!

Truth, which the sage and prophet saw,
Long sought without, but found within,
The Law of Love beyond all law,
The Life o'erflooding mortal death and sin!

Shine on us with the light which glowed
Upon the trance-bound shepherd's way.
Who saw the Darkness overflowed
And drowned by tides of everlasting Day.

Shine, light of God!--make broad thy scope
To all who sin and suffer; more
And better than we dare to hope
With Heaven's compassion make our longings poor!

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The Dream


Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past - they speak
Like sibyls of the future; they have power -
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not - what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanished shadows - Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? - What are they?
Creations of the mind? - The mind can make
Substances, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dreamed
Perchance in sleep - for in itself a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour.


I saw two beings in the hues of youth
Standing upon a hill, a gentle hill,
Green and of mild declivity, the last
As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,
Save that there was no sea to lave its base,
But a most living landscape, and the wave
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke
Arising from such rustic roofs: the hill
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem
Of trees, in circular array, so fixed,
Not by the sport of nature, but of man:
These two, a maiden and a youth, were there
Gazing - the one on all that was beneath
Fair as herself - but the boy gazed on her;
And both were young, and one was beautiful:
And both were young - yet not alike in youth.
As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge,
The maid was on the eve of womanhood;
The boy had fewer summers, but his heart
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him; he had looked
Upon it till it could not pass away;
He had no breath, no being, but in hers:
She was his voice; he did not speak to her,
But trembled on her words; she was his sight,
For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers,
Which coloured all his objects; - he had ceased
To live within himself: she was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all; upon a tone,
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
And his cheek change tempestuously - his heart
Unknowing of its cause of agony.
But she in these fond feelings had no share:
Her sighs were not for him; to her he was
Even as a brother - but no more; 'twas much,
For brotherless she was, save in the name
Her infant friendship had bestowed on him;
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honoured race. - It was a name
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not - and why?
Time taught him a deep answer - when she loved
Another; even now she loved another,
And on the summit of that hill she stood
Looking afar if yet her lover's steed
Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew.


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
There was an ancient mansion, and before
Its walls there was a steed caparisoned:
Within an antique Oratory stood
The Boy of whom I spake; - he was alone,
And pale, and pacing to and fro: anon
He sate him down, and seized a pen, and traced
Words which I could not guess of; then he leaned
His bowed head on his hands and shook, as 'twere
With a convulsion - then rose again,
And with his teeth and quivering hands did tear
What he had written, but he shed no tears.
And he did calm himself, and fix his brow
Into a kind of quiet: as he paused,
The Lady of his love re-entered there;
She was serene and smiling then, and yet
She knew she was by him beloved; she knew -
For quickly comes such knowledge - that his heart
Was darkened with her shadow, and she saw
That he was wretched, but she saw not all.
He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp
He took her hand; a moment o'er his face
A tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced, and then it faded, as it came;
He dropped the hand he held, and with slow steps
Retired, but not as bidding her adieu,
For they did part with mutual smiles; he passed
From out the massy gate of that old Hall,
And mounting on his steed he went his way;
And ne'er repassed that hoary threshold more.


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the wilds
Of fiery climes he made himself a home,
And his Soul drank their sunbeams; he was girt
With strange and dusky aspects; he was not
Himself like what he had been; on the sea
And on the shore he was a wanderer;
There was a mass of many images
Crowded like waves upon me, but he was
A part of all; and in the last he lay
Reposing from the noontide sultriness,
Couched among fallen columns, in the shade
Of ruined walls that had survived the names
Of those who reared them; by his sleeping side
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds
Were fastened near a fountain; and a man,
Glad in a flowing garb, did watch the while,
While many of his tribe slumbered around:
And they were canopied by the blue sky,
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alone was to be seen in heaven.


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Lady of his love was wed with One
Who did not love her better: in her home,
A thousand leagues from his, - her native home,
She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy,
Daughters and sons of Beauty, - but behold!
Upon her face there was a tint of grief,
The settled shadow of an inward strife,
And an unquiet drooping of the eye,
As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.
What could her grief be? - she had all she loved,
And he who had so loved her was not there
To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,
Or ill-repressed affliction, her pure thoughts.
What could her grief be? - she had loved him not,
Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved,
Nor could he be a part of that which preyed
Upon her mind - a spectre of the past.


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was returned. - I saw him stand
Before an altar - with a gentle bride;
Her face was fair, but was not that which made
The Starlight of his Boyhood; - as he stood
Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came
The selfsame aspect and the quivering shock
That in the antique Oratory shook
His bosom in its solitude; and then -
As in that hour - a moment o'er his face
The tablet of unutterable thoughts
Was traced - and then it faded as it came,
And he stood calm and quiet, and he spoke
The fitting vows, but heard not his own words,
And all things reeled around him; he could see
Not that which was, nor that which should have been -
But the old mansion, and the accustomed hall,
And the remembered chambers, and the place,
The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the shade,
All things pertaining to that place and hour,
And her who was his destiny, came back
And thrust themselves between him and the light;
What business had they there at such a time?


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Lady of his love; - Oh! she was changed,
As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes,
They had not their own lustre, but the look
Which is not of the earth; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things;
And forms impalpable and unperceived
Of others' sight familiar were to hers.
And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift;
What is it but the telescope of truth?
Which strips the distance of its fantasies,
And brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real!


A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,
The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him; he was a mark
For blight and desolation, compassed round
With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mixed
In all which was served up to him, until,
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,
He fed on poisons, and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment; he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains; with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues: and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss revealed
A marvel and a secret. - Be it so.


My dream is past; it had no further change.
It was of a strange order, that the doom
Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost like a reality - the one
To end in madness - both in misery

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Samuel Butler

There is no such source of error as the pursuit of truth.

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The Power Of Truth

One lie is a hole,
That burns deep in the soul.
Only truth can fix.

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If error is corrected whenever it is recognized as such, the path of error is the path of truth.

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Publilius Syrus

Art has a double face, of expression and illusion, just like science has a double face: the reality of error and the phantom of truth.

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There is no sinfulness in the will and affections without some error in the understanding. All lusts which a natural man lives in, are lusts of ignorance.

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But the more we search the Scriptures, the more we perceive, in this doctrine, the fundamental truth of the gospel - that truth which gives to redemption its character, and to all other truths their real power.

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The Wind was Rough which Tore

The wind was rough which tore
That leaf from its parent tree
The fate was cruel which bore
The withering corpse to me

We wander on we have no rest
It is a dreary way

What shadow is it
That ever moves before [my] eyes
It has a brow of ghostly whiteness

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The Eyes Of Truth

(curly m.c.)
The eyes of truth
Are always watching you.
Mongolian chant translation
Alsyn gazryn zeregleenn
Aduu shig mal shig torolzonoo khuoo
In the distance the mirage stands out like
Horses and cattle.
Very glad to see my beloved son.
--- sandras whispers ---
Je me regarde
Je me sens
Je vois des enfants
Je suis enfant !
I look at myself
I feel myself
I see the children
I am a child! )

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The Science of Truth

Estimating values, we assign upon a podium,
In position of primary importance all that remains
For us to hold when all that is secondary has been
Declared Unfit for the honour of priority. Our science
Thus takes the form of an Index upon emphasis, held
Within the realm of speculation. Our mission is to establish
The relation of the fire to the salamander; of manifestation
To intangible cause. Of all that lay pure, divine in nature
We seek to know upon our Journey. Thus is the science of truth.

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The dove of truth

The dove of truth is sitting in our garden
Our gaze inside the room
Light and truth just outside our window
Our eyes see only gloom

The dove of truth is making dovely sounds
Our ears like better beat and drum
Love and truth just outside our window
But our ears are deaf for them

The dove of truth is still sitting in our garden
Her message clearly there
Love and light just outside our window
But our egos would not care

If just our ego could be silenced
The dove of truth is never far away
Truth, light and love is all around,
Our soul will pray.

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The perception of truth

Fact exists, truth needs to be believed

My truth is important to me

I also understand that

Your truth is important, to you

My life is not just a single truth

But a village of many kinds of truth

The version you believe, may be different from mine

And both versions are true, to each of us

The duality of truth

Fights for resolution

And yet, coexists

Quietly, when it needs to

Funny concept this truth

Does fact indeed exist?

And do we really need,

To believe the truth?

Are both just empty shadows

We chase, to play our role

In a divine comedy

For an audience of one

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The Side Of Truth

i dont lie well,
never have...
and wont say things
you want to hear.
the truth is the truth,
i paint the picture naked.
but i do so with the knowledge
that we are all human,
very much so.
i dont judge other people.
i dont sell out.
i dont care about convenience.
and i wont blindly follow.
and at this age,
i wont shut up till i'm ready,
and i wont back down.
i'll admit to my own mistakes,
you deal with your own.
i try to always be compassionate,
and i fiercely demand freedom.
what i know i've learned the hard way,
and what i have i freely give.
i stand on the side of truth,
learning with every step!

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By the degree of charm her countenance foretold

By the degree of charm her countenance foretold
The temperature of beauty, her womanly pride
As graceful as simple and as touching as cold
She seduced mine heart and my soul did abide
Her taste for passion, her loving tender caress
Which her essence withdrew and her heart absorb
Stealing my soul and my poetic finesse
Her sense organ attracted like a gravitating orb
My heart to her heart did my love bequeath
All my talent and genius on her beautiful beauty sweet
Perfectly blended with her sincere soul underneath
Where true love unites and true love meet
But no love for me, and all love to she
She did steal my love, my poetry, my heart sincerely

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In the Alley of Truth

As I was standing by the hillside
A voice spoke to me
It said this world you have forgotten
Will finally be set free

And I prayed to a spirit
I wasn't completely sure of
But what if I wanted to fall
Instead of come up to find love

Oh, these lies
Killing me
Killing me
Shot dead

Oh, it's you
In the alley of truth
I see the sparkle in your eye
You can't deny it

As I spoke to the river
And breathed life to you
You turned your head away
Away from the truth

The truth
The truth
Where can I find the truth?
Is it inside of me?
Where can I find the truth?
Is it here with me?

I can't say
Please don't let me go
I'm lost
Be my light
Be my guide

You are so

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The Results Of Truth In Action

Never had I had the opportunity,
To have others rally in support...
Of my deluded accusations.
Nor have people rushed to my defense,
Based upon allegations I falsely made.

And after witnessing this in a process done,
By the ones who have had some come to their aid...
I can say with a gratefulness,
Happy am I that I have not been tempted...
To lie on others.

Paying the ultimate price,
To have time correct those wrongs to make right...
For those who have been victimized,
Does not achieve what deceivers expect...
When one's mental and physical health become subjected,
To live lives others can eventually see for themselves...
The results of truth in action.
Requiring little, if any, judgement needed to pass.

A payback delivered is in the proof of observation.

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The Decline of Truth

The smoldering embers of a tree
Once shinning the life of men
Remind the story of the sad illusion
That was to be the decline of truth.
Taken by the fire of madness
Stoked by the anger within,
The clear ponds reflected the brave knight
The hero of truth
The bringer of illusion.
Stricken by the light of darkness
The sky is forever in chaos
As the light that once gave it color
Was devoured by the demon of madness.
The leaves that flew in the winds
Now rest by the embers reflecting illusion
And the smoldering heat of truth
Became apparent as the hero trapped in illusion
Sauntered beneath the chaos sky
And as the demon devoured illusion
The truth became apparent
And the hero that never was,
Defeated by truth
Faded to the embers of sad illusion
And added to the decline of truth.

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