Truth is an elderly widow, crouched in the grass over the remains of her mangled cat, her tears mixing with the blood on the earth as she wonders why anyone would do this to her last remaining companion. Truth is the thin wail that comes from the mouth of an 8 year-old child that weighs 16 pounds as the sun hits it’s eyes for the first time since the parents have kept the child locked in a dark closet all the child’s life, pushing scraps of food under the door when they remembered. Truth is the death of a 16 year-old girl in a hospital associated with what has been called one of the best university hospitals in the world because a doctor, too busy to worry about a charity case, transplanted a heart from the wrong blood type. These are the truths we see every day.

Lest you think that I am too gloomy, truth is also this: the glistening eyes of a newborn child as it sees it’s mother for the first time; the wonder on a young child’s face when they see a rainbow for the first time; the color of a young man’s cheek as he looks at the rather plain woman sitting across the table from him at a restaurant and comes to the realization that this is the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with; the exhausted exultation felt by a mother as she sees the child that has just been pulled from her body and feels it’s warmth against her chest and the tug of it’s tiny mouth on her breast for the first time; the joy of watching that child grow and prosper and marry to have children of her own and finally, the peace in the eyes of the old and infirm as a death which they have long expected and come to terms with arrives to deliver them from pain.

This last is the one final truth: that all that lives and loves will one day die. That fate is immutable. In the meantime, fill your life with life and leave the clap-trap to Hollywood.

Dave McKinney
Parker, CO, July 2003.

The pain that dwelt there, grown well accustomed to and ignored, was freed by something as simple yet miraculous as mere words, spoken, recognized and taken as truth. Ah, You may say, a work of faith - but no. I have faith little enough, as yet, and it is still a thing which must be proved out to me, if perhaps I may persevere so long, and therein lies that doubt.

What came to pass was the recognition of a kindred spirit, a reaching with words and the inevitable connection they made in My life. I could no more hold the power of those words at bay, had that been My desire, than push the very stars from the heavens.

Finding Myself in the midst of such an outpouring of love, I staggered in fear - first of its power, then of its weakness, realizing its beauty and fragility.

Yet I fell to it, held it dear, taking the heart of that giving spirit with it and, by the very acceptance, found the person possessing the things I needed most, long lost and sought out unknowingly, perhaps willingly or no, I have no way to tell - I had been easily overwhelmed.

Taken, yet finding the heart of My dreams, the very one I had sought in others, waiting within for the return of the love that had been understood before the gift was given.

Astonished still at the power of the words, of love, and the sincerity of that unbridled longing for acceptance and sharing, I found this was but a glimmer of a heart that speaks in truth.

My unreserved gratitude to the one who is my inspiration and thankful also without reservation to the powers that be for our having met.

submitted by: Michael and Veronica

Editors note-
Here's my own contribution-

I once heard the great guitarist Leo Keottke talking about Artists and he said that all great Artists are liars. One day he was driving in his car with his son and daughter in the back when suddenly his daughter let out a scream. “What’s going on back there?” he yelled “I don’t know” replied his son. He said his heart just swelled with pride because he knew that his son was an Artist. (Apologies to Leo if I have misquoted him, it was a few years ago.)

When we create a work of Art we are usually taking one thing and making it look like another, something which it is not. I guess that this could be called lying. We try to convey emotion and movement and represent aspects of our internal selves, yet we do it with things that usually have nothing to do with what is being represented.

Perhaps the most obvious example is an Actor playing a very convincing role. A very talented one can convince other people that they are someone or even something other than they are.

But I don’t want to stretch this point too far; I value honesty as highly as I value anything. One thing that I have always respected is when an Artist is being “honest” with him/herself about themselves and their work and not letting being an “Artist” do strange things to the way they think of themselves or how they think others should perceive them.

I worked for a very great man by the name of Joe O’Connell, one of the most honest individual I have ever met. And let me tell you, sometimes it was heartbreaking. There was one time when I carved a bit of stone, cut letters into it and was sort of proud of how clever I had been in the arrangement of the composition.

Naturally I had to show Joe and ask him what he thought of it. His response was “Well, Dave, that’s nice but I think that as you get better at cutting letters you are going to look at this and hate it.”

It wasn’t what I wanted to hear at that particular moment. But he was, of course, as right as he could be. Now I look at that piece and laugh and wonder what the heck I was thinking. Not that I’ve become a great letter cutter, but I think I see what he was talking about. The truth was that I hadn’t done the best that I could and he could see it as plain as day.

That was the thing that I really liked and also really hated about Joe; if you asked for his opinion he would give it to you. Usually in a very kind and gentle way, but nevertheless, with a certain force and clarity that could really bruise an overly-fragile ego. It was extremely healthy.

And people would meet Joe and afterwards say “He’s an Artist??? But… But… He seems so… normal.” But he wasn’t just an Artist, he was a great Artist, and a dear friend and about the best mentor that a guy like me could have had.

I have been extremely lucky to have such great teachers in my life; from my Parents to Joe to one or two others that I won’t mention here. I haven’t really gone far in my career, but without them I wouldn’t have gone anywhere at all. I owe them more than I can say and probably more than I realize even now.

And that’s the Truth.

Dave Cofell
July 15^th 2003