I was asked to write a piece on honesty. It seemed like an easy write. Honesty should be cut and dry, tell the truth, simple as that, but it isn’t. The capillaries of truth can either feed arteries, or sever them. We never know the outcome until the words flow and the reaction begins, leaving us sometimes wishing we kept our words silently dancing in our own minds. For every truth spoken there is an ear that heard, ready to make us choke on the consequences that may be pushed down our throats via our open mouths. Honesty is a responsibility that sometimes bears poisonous fruit, at least momentarily. That fruit, once fully matured, releases integrity, honor, and self respect, allowing one to stand tall and face not only themselves, but any adversary, with a clear conscience.
Fear and denial seem to be the greatest inhibitors of truth. So many people live their lives oblivious to who they are; afraid their reality will do nothing but pollute those they love. They pull out their favorite Crayolas and color the picture pretty to hide what they have deemed the ugliness of their soul. They etch vibrant color to replace what guilt has deemed dark. The crayon seals their fate, and if they see it begin to peek through, like a rebirth, they abort what is real, once again, by adding a new layer of colored wax.
A soul dies, snubbing out the spirit of who they were created to be, choking the life out of what is real. Years pass with adaptation to the artistic print, but the feelings beneath, still profoundly inhibited, don’t die or go away. They teach, through actions, true self is unimportant. They are easily led and those who lead them, those that contain and control, are given the leash to lead, with guilt and damnation. Though their spirit is numbed and the truth is still unknown, their captors see the crack in the drawing; the emotional jailer will throw the book of Hell fire and mortification, casting one lower than the serpent of Lucifer or whatever tactic will create the most shame and guilt, to keep the “less worthy” intact and securely under their command. The weak, the crayon holders, read the book, bow their head in shame, believing they are bad, wrong, or deserve to be severely punished and caged. They live in a world where their mind is lead by other’s choices for them. They are far too afraid of change, strength, or the rewards of simply being self loving enough to say: I am me.
Sadly, the choices these people have made for themselves slaughter the very crux of life’s intention. They live on their knees, begging forgiveness, for the lies they live. They don’t see or recognize, through their conditioning by their captors and their abusers, that the only real sin, the only real punishable issue of their life, is the sin against themselves. Yet, they don’t inhibit the strength to feel worthy of reality. They strengthen the lie, in their minds, under the terms and conditions of commitment, when, in reality, a commitment based on a lie, continued on a lie, is the very disgrace they think they are avoiding. Commitment becomes the glass mountain to hide, justify, and mask what is really simply fear, lack self respect, and insecurity.
The ring leaders of the weak also hide behind the premise of love, devotion, and righteousness, when in reality; they are living their own lie, controlling others out of their own fear, insecurity, and dishonesty. They, too, are internally ugly and have drawn their own pictures. Each character is expected to follow the etched road to Oz to validate the righteousness of the controller’s life. When one character steps off canvas, they are damned, not because they are wrong, but because the controller fears the wax has began to melt exposing what is real underneath their artistic fantasy. Their betrayals are more serious than the follower. They painted their character as the supreme, the good, the just, creating themselves “better than.” They lead through deception, enacting vile laws of devotion and penance. When questioned or exposed, they hide behind the self portrait of perfection, knowing the lies that live inside. They can’t take responsibility; they cannot admit any wrong doing that will weaken the stance of the almighty self-righteous controller. Out of fear of losing control of the unit in which they command, they hide behind the Bible, or some other equally vicious weapon, to cast punishment on those that may begin to question.
Wearing the cloak of deception under the premised fear of, “what will people think of me if I am true to myself?” invalidates the essence of human existence. The consequences to being true to yourself is self respect and with self respect we find we can love ourselves, warts and all, and only then we can free our own spirit.