These days I can’t tell
If I believe what I believe.
I’m too aware of my ability to deceive myself.
I know what I think, but that’s just me
With the scant information I’ve accumulated
From sketchy sources,
Analyzed through my particular
Emotional and cultural biases,
Not to mention the proliferation of spin.
But, now that I think of it,
Spin is inevitable,
Given the slippery nature of human consciousness,
It’s penchant to blind itself
To what it doesn’t want to see,
To let talking heads tell it
What it wants to believe.
Living in the unknowing is a frightening proposition,
To admit our fragility,
Our position at the mercy
Of so much that is beyond us.
It, easier, much more comforting to believe
The eye of the hurricane is all there is,
Or, at least, it was made to center on us.
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