If you think carefully about it, but never tell anyone, you know that the world around us is made up of little truths. Things you see and totally understand without being able to explain. The way a bird flies in the morning. Or the way the dew hangs off green blades of grass. There is something about it all, the way it just clicks that makes you realise it is real.
Reflective of something bigger.
There is the way your best friend accepts exactly what you are, who you are. And the way the sun tints the early morning sky with a colour that really makes you feel you are alive.
All these things, if you thinkg about them tell you something you cannot explain. And yet the world is not like that. Made up of so many tiny, tiny truths, it escapes our gaze. We sense it is more, greater than we see, bigger than ourselves and yet and yet we can't explain what the feeling is that drives us on.
We know though that the world we see is false. But what is the real world? What does it look like? Why can't we see it?
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