An iron skillet in one hand
a spatula in the other
two eggs cracked
sunny-side up
a breakfast with an answer
not the chicken
nor the eggs
but the star
that one day
became
an iron skillet.
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Truth (with a capital "T") is the elephant, and humanity the blind touching, sniffing, tasting, listening to this big "T" and of course we all rhapsodize a different tale (or tail?), yet in the end the big "T" is still the big "T" and all our various tales describe a tiny bit of that reality, the elephant.
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