Wild Dark Delicious

In the grocery store, there is a plastic bottle in the shape of a bear. It smiles down from the top shelf at me. The icon, the facade, the lie, the smiling bear.
On this plastic bottle, there appears the word "Honey", usually accompanied with pictures of little clovers and happy flowers. In my ever so sweetness of a mind, I conveniently smile back at the plastic bear on the shelf, conveniently pick him up, and conveniently take him along with me.
Ever so easily. Ever so.

I am the god of convenient lies. Tease myself with my own visions of truth; the power of personal suggestion.
Recently, quite content believing that somehow honey is the magic food of smiling bears. If it is easier to justify in my own mind - then I will make it so. Truth via moi.
Life continues "ever so easily", when circumstance calls for me to turn a blind eye to what I don't want to know.

What don't I want to believe? Am I dissuaded by the inconvenience of reality? Do I neglect searching because I don't wish to be aware of my own current delusion? (Distasteful) Will I become upset or displeased, if I find out that the truth of things is not what I pretend they are?
Most times, there is nothing physically stopping me from discovering truth - no obstacles whatsoever.. the information is right there accessible, open, touchable, waiting to be known. Most times, I think I refuse to discover truth... only because I personally do not wish to know.
Knowing makes me vulnerable. Vulnerable to what? To the knowledge of truth; to the bitter unsettling sweat of real. Knowing, elicits a response... and many time I don't want to respond,(like when I look away from the homeless guy at the intersection) - I hate responding when it gets uncomfortable. Aaahhhh.. it does suck to be vulnerable doesn't it. ;) Sweet convenient ignorance is such a necessity these days.

Pretending honey is the magic food of smiling bears is only the very beginning.
How much deeper do I take it?
god of convenient lies; ever so easily.
Do I take it to relationships? Do I take it to conversations? Do I take it to motion? Do I take it to my reactions? Do I take it to my words, my thoughts, my dreams? When does the pretending stop? Where does it start? What else is real, that I simply, ignorantly, conveniently refuse to know?

Bees make honey.
It a secretion from the mouths of tiny fuzzy insects, they spit it up and splash around in it... and I love them for it.
Wild Dark Deliciousness.

(Andrew Tipton)