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chelidonI find that my faith in the power of truth gets sorely tested. From personal to global, self-serving fabrications and rationalizations, half-truths, insinuations, "creative interpretation," spin, and carefully-crafted strategic falsehoods swirl around and around, reeking with the unmistakably putrid stench of untruth. The smug, self-satisfied lies of our governments, our leaders, pile up, one upon the other, until barely a half-truth begins to seem like the purest shining veracity, simply by virtue of comparison to what foully lives and breeds around it. As one insightful friend has spoken, Orwell's 1984 comes to look less like a satire or a warning, and more like a blueprint.
A friend I am counseling looks me in the eye and tells me bald-faced lies, in order that I should not think ill of his choices. Despite seeking my advice, the friend is, perhaps, too afraid of judgment to speak the truth. A failure of courage, understandable, merely human, but he doesn't seem to understand that he destroys the very possibility of actual progress in the work between us so long as he maintains the lies. But, no, as is unfortunately sometimes the case in these things, despite the reasons spoken for the request of counsel, it's not actual progress he seeks, not help in doing his Work -- rather it's an ally he's after, to enlist me in his cause, to help him spin his illusions even more tightly and effectively around himself, to help protect himself from the harsh truths of his life as he has chosen to live it. Well, I won't ally, nor maintain relationship with those whom I cannot trust, who can't or won't be above-board with me. It's just too much work to always wonder whether I've gotten the straight story, or the pretty lie. And there's no real benefit to be had in feeding an illusion, whether one's own or another's, no matter how pretty it seems or sounds or looks. The truth of it, no matter how hard to face, is always the better choice -- the road which leads onwards, rather than back around again, and again, to repeat the same tired old well-worn rutted circular path.
I see friends and loved ones suffering from the effects of layers upon layers of toxic untruths which have been wielded against them, often out of convenience, or self-serving selfish interest or condescension -- if not pure malice, which would in a way, be somhow cleaner, less poisonous than the casual lies. Just as it is true that those who are abused often learn very well how to abuse, and find ways to use their tragic skills against others, those who are wounded by untruth can come to believe in the lies, to prefer the fictional stories they are told, the false stories they tell themselves, to what is real, and then sometimes they turn those lies against those around them. As we buy into the lies, become illusory stake-holders in false worlds, we perpetuate the systems which enslave us.
I note where in my own life I have been untrue, to myself or others, or where I have been willing to play a make-believe game of illusion, to buy into my own or another's shadow-scenarios instead of looking the damn hard truths in the face and stepping forward to take the actions those truths require. No illusion is stronger than one we want to believe.
And yet, and yet. Even as I doubt, truth rears its lionesse head and strides forth proudly, if untrumpeted -- an unimpeachable source, a true friend, a loyal lover, a courageous whistle-blower, a relentless prosecutor, an unbowed defender, a terrible knowledge which will not hide its face. The lies, even those told bald-faced and seemingly unashamed in the name of "truth," are revealed, surely as day follows night. Hubris brings its own consequences, and those who live in shadow-worlds find the real world somehow finding its own balance, and their carefully-crafted illusions, in the end, unbelieved. Despite all transient evidence to the contrary, sooner or later, the inexorable force of Truth with a capital "T" clears away the webs of lies, the shackles which bind, the blinders and the illusions and glamours which obscure, and we see what is, as opposed to what self-serving hypocrites and mediocre tellers of poor, tawdry, humdrum stories, pale wan imitations of the true mysteries, try to pass off as reality. "Reality" is so much more deep and wondrous than the thin, runny gruel that false storytellers try to feed us. Life is an enormous banquet, rich and delicious, even as it is often undeniably bittersweet. Put another way, if the story you hear bores you, write a better one, a truly epic myth -- bet you dimes to donuts, your tale will be the truer.
I recently ran across something I wrote quite a number of years ago, I believe under a pseudonym I no longer use, a certain Fr. someone-or-other. It bears all the signs of unsubtle youth, but I find that while I might not be quite so stridently grandiose today, it has a certain surety and clarity that I find touching, and somewhat refreshing. And, all passing doubts to the contrary, I believe it happens to be true.
May truth be your friend, and may your eyes be open, clear, and see what is. May your Knife of Discernment be keen and well-used. May truth shine in all of our lives, and clear away all the persistent, sticky, self-limiting illusions, whether those spun by others, or by ourselves.
-------
"A belief which cannot stand scrutiny is a fair-weather friend. It hardens into dogma or blind faith, like eggshell porcelain -- brittle and fragile by nature, and therefore cowardly. It shrinks with fear from the bright light of inquiry, from the inevitable discovery of its essential weaknesses. It imperiously or piteously demands our constant offerings, the loyal dedication of ever-increasing portions of our time and life-energy to defend it from exposure, leaving us with less and less ability to pursue our own true Work. A belief which is held close, cherished, and tenderly protected from the world is a vampiric child, teeth in our breast, sucking the will like marrow from a bone.
Expose your "truths" fully to the universe, leave them out on the plains of Pandaemoneum and let the ravens of critical thought and the insatiable demons of deep knowing pick apart their bones and feast upon their tender bodies. Gather the few, precious remnants to the millstone, and grind them into dust, mix the dust into mortar, bake it into the bread of Life, press rich wine from the slurry--eat, drink, breathe and surround yourself with these truths alone. . .
What is True needs no defense, needs no justifications, needs no elaborate rationalizations and schemes. It most certainly is beyond your ability to defend, protect or harm, so it is neither afraid of your seeking gaze, nor demanding of your restraining shelter. What is True stands freely on its own, is pure, simple, elegant and consistent, and neither time nor circumstance nor harshest scrutiny can ever mark it. Build your own Tower from these stones of Truth-- they are precious, and few, and the building will go slowly, but in the end what you make from their foundation will stand the tests of time. There will be no deeply hidden places of rottenness to crumble away to dust when the tempests come to test you.
Truth is, and it shines."
A friend I am counseling looks me in the eye and tells me bald-faced lies, in order that I should not think ill of his choices. Despite seeking my advice, the friend is, perhaps, too afraid of judgment to speak the truth. A failure of courage, understandable, merely human, but he doesn't seem to understand that he destroys the very possibility of actual progress in the work between us so long as he maintains the lies. But, no, as is unfortunately sometimes the case in these things, despite the reasons spoken for the request of counsel, it's not actual progress he seeks, not help in doing his Work -- rather it's an ally he's after, to enlist me in his cause, to help him spin his illusions even more tightly and effectively around himself, to help protect himself from the harsh truths of his life as he has chosen to live it. Well, I won't ally, nor maintain relationship with those whom I cannot trust, who can't or won't be above-board with me. It's just too much work to always wonder whether I've gotten the straight story, or the pretty lie. And there's no real benefit to be had in feeding an illusion, whether one's own or another's, no matter how pretty it seems or sounds or looks. The truth of it, no matter how hard to face, is always the better choice -- the road which leads onwards, rather than back around again, and again, to repeat the same tired old well-worn rutted circular path.
I see friends and loved ones suffering from the effects of layers upon layers of toxic untruths which have been wielded against them, often out of convenience, or self-serving selfish interest or condescension -- if not pure malice, which would in a way, be somhow cleaner, less poisonous than the casual lies. Just as it is true that those who are abused often learn very well how to abuse, and find ways to use their tragic skills against others, those who are wounded by untruth can come to believe in the lies, to prefer the fictional stories they are told, the false stories they tell themselves, to what is real, and then sometimes they turn those lies against those around them. As we buy into the lies, become illusory stake-holders in false worlds, we perpetuate the systems which enslave us.
I note where in my own life I have been untrue, to myself or others, or where I have been willing to play a make-believe game of illusion, to buy into my own or another's shadow-scenarios instead of looking the damn hard truths in the face and stepping forward to take the actions those truths require. No illusion is stronger than one we want to believe.
And yet, and yet. Even as I doubt, truth rears its lionesse head and strides forth proudly, if untrumpeted -- an unimpeachable source, a true friend, a loyal lover, a courageous whistle-blower, a relentless prosecutor, an unbowed defender, a terrible knowledge which will not hide its face. The lies, even those told bald-faced and seemingly unashamed in the name of "truth," are revealed, surely as day follows night. Hubris brings its own consequences, and those who live in shadow-worlds find the real world somehow finding its own balance, and their carefully-crafted illusions, in the end, unbelieved. Despite all transient evidence to the contrary, sooner or later, the inexorable force of Truth with a capital "T" clears away the webs of lies, the shackles which bind, the blinders and the illusions and glamours which obscure, and we see what is, as opposed to what self-serving hypocrites and mediocre tellers of poor, tawdry, humdrum stories, pale wan imitations of the true mysteries, try to pass off as reality. "Reality" is so much more deep and wondrous than the thin, runny gruel that false storytellers try to feed us. Life is an enormous banquet, rich and delicious, even as it is often undeniably bittersweet. Put another way, if the story you hear bores you, write a better one, a truly epic myth -- bet you dimes to donuts, your tale will be the truer.
I recently ran across something I wrote quite a number of years ago, I believe under a pseudonym I no longer use, a certain Fr. someone-or-other. It bears all the signs of unsubtle youth, but I find that while I might not be quite so stridently grandiose today, it has a certain surety and clarity that I find touching, and somewhat refreshing. And, all passing doubts to the contrary, I believe it happens to be true.
May truth be your friend, and may your eyes be open, clear, and see what is. May your Knife of Discernment be keen and well-used. May truth shine in all of our lives, and clear away all the persistent, sticky, self-limiting illusions, whether those spun by others, or by ourselves.
-------
"A belief which cannot stand scrutiny is a fair-weather friend. It hardens into dogma or blind faith, like eggshell porcelain -- brittle and fragile by nature, and therefore cowardly. It shrinks with fear from the bright light of inquiry, from the inevitable discovery of its essential weaknesses. It imperiously or piteously demands our constant offerings, the loyal dedication of ever-increasing portions of our time and life-energy to defend it from exposure, leaving us with less and less ability to pursue our own true Work. A belief which is held close, cherished, and tenderly protected from the world is a vampiric child, teeth in our breast, sucking the will like marrow from a bone.
Expose your "truths" fully to the universe, leave them out on the plains of Pandaemoneum and let the ravens of critical thought and the insatiable demons of deep knowing pick apart their bones and feast upon their tender bodies. Gather the few, precious remnants to the millstone, and grind them into dust, mix the dust into mortar, bake it into the bread of Life, press rich wine from the slurry--eat, drink, breathe and surround yourself with these truths alone. . .
What is True needs no defense, needs no justifications, needs no elaborate rationalizations and schemes. It most certainly is beyond your ability to defend, protect or harm, so it is neither afraid of your seeking gaze, nor demanding of your restraining shelter. What is True stands freely on its own, is pure, simple, elegant and consistent, and neither time nor circumstance nor harshest scrutiny can ever mark it. Build your own Tower from these stones of Truth-- they are precious, and few, and the building will go slowly, but in the end what you make from their foundation will stand the tests of time. There will be no deeply hidden places of rottenness to crumble away to dust when the tempests come to test you.
Truth is, and it shines."
