What if “the facts” we were taught as children aren’t facts at all, aren’t true?
What if the children’s world we inhabited was the “real” world, and the scoldings and moldings were to keep us inside a small black-and-white box that adults could comfortably occupy without questioning their existence?

What if black-and-white is the lie, and the truth is always gray?
What if the solid world we live in is the illusion, and we’re simply players in our own created dramas?
What if we’ve been taught to shut our eyes and close our ears to the real world, the parallel dimension that we all inhabit, in which time doesn’t exist but all souls dwell?

What if we could silence and center ourselves so we could see and hear what’s all around us?
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What if a mother’s heart never accepts finality or separation, always knowing these are the true deceptions and choosing instead to experience what others deny?
What if choosing the “improvable” brings solace, grace, and continued connectedness? What if she’s here by my side?

Who cares what skeptics say? Pain, separation, despair are the ultimate rewards for denying the possibility of all things. Even if the naysayers are ultimately right, they suffer where I rejoice.