The "truth", isn't. There to me is no truth. Only a dictate of what we as individuals see as our own truths. My true self is neither here not far, separate nor apart. It is always there, amidst all of everything. Always present, always never-present. Within a space without a space. Everything is true. Nothing is permissible. Tis only your work from which you deem as your own work and never truth.
We all speak much but say very little. We try to convey and communicate something, and then, like a fart in a skillet, it's gone.
The truth is a joke, a fallacy, a stupid thought from a monkey mind of dumb interpretation to which we try to say to someone else, anyone else, just someone.
But once it hits anyone, someone else; it's gone.
The thought and the meaning, the message is gone.
So, then what? I'm at the same loss you are. Then what?
Where did that amazing idea and message go? It's gone.
Only to be somewhat interpreted and understood by another brain.
I too have much to say. Much to say and very little to finally convey. Like a thief in the night, it's gone and done with however many more thoughts and contemplations you yourself do without me.