The truth is the same no matter whence it came.

But here I contemplate what I might have been had I

Chosen another part for the light I sought

Or another soul I might have bought,

Another hat, other shoes, to walk or march, or run, jump,

Or sit still with feet bare, head bare,

Spirit dressed in a mist of serenity.

Is truth a single actor, many costumes?

Is life a single actor, many costumes?

Do we all read from the same script?

Would I play my part differently if I knew the play ends really?

Why do humans need a promise of heaven?

All the other animals seem to live graciously enough.

I do not see them burning sacrifices, lighting candles,

Praying for salvation. Why should they have no heaven?

I do not see life being easier for them,

Who take only what they need,

Accept their limited role without complaint.

Are they wrapped tight in reptilian guilt?

They do eat voraciously at times, blood dripping,

But none will kill me, I know,

Because I have the wrong belief,

Or because I see the ghost of holiness in a different form.

They do not debate, but that may not be for lack of intellect

But rather that all disputes are settled, and each of us

Is both a dinner and a diner.

Not so that eating make a sinner but rather sinning is a banquet

For the parched mind of the apical animal

Who lost a tail and gained a brain

That enables deeper, broader swinging

From contemplation to cosmic destruction,

Life itself comprising the most artful and dramatic

Suicide, fanfare, parade, blossoms, drums, bagpipes

And confetti, decorated horses, dancing, vibrant cymbals.

Terrified, they are, the little creatures, those poor animals,

Of the strange being without a tail.

But the tailless also succumb to the generic truth

Not published in a book, owned or patented.

They, tailless, consume the air and the light,

Their own thoughts, burn their books as

Fast as they can write them.

They are forever re-inventing their purpose,

Forever acting as though the play begins at the end.

And for now, the only right thing to do

Is to kill ourselves for having a head with wrong thoughts.

And the animated creatures watch amazed

From their hiding places, and wonder:

If they had tails, they might be saved.

The tail is the seat of stability;

Without one, poor things don't know who they are.