The Truth of Things
It’s past midnight. Can’t sleep. Fan whirring incessantly, the rhythm of shifting breeze gently ties into the electronic dreamy pop drifting out of my little glowing laptop. Life feels like a bubble suspended within the pulse of these notes, this air, and that breeze right now, right here. It is the truest thing I can say about this very moment.
Have been suspended in a work haze of late. In between endless stretches of consumed hours, within those precious moments of nothingness, I have been thinking about the truth of things a lot. And the truth is, well…that would be letting you off a little easy now, wouldn’t it? Anyhow, does anyone really know the meaning of that word? It sure gets thrown around a lot. Everyone seeks it in some form or another. True love. True happiness. True friendship. True Blood. True True True. The latter may be the most tangible of them all – real or not, at least it comes in a bottle of selected flavors.
Sometimes I think we are all fooling ourselves. The path we set ourselves upon, toward a goal so intangible, that we may be oblivious even if we ever reach it. And wouldn’t that be truly the saddest thing of all?
Of course, that is the melancholy in me talking. The truth is that I of all people is an undeniable believer of truth – of not only things, but of people. I believe in the truth of innate goodness. I believe in the truth of unbreakable bonds. I believe in the truth of absolute trust. I believe in the truth of raw beauty. I believe in the truth of meant-to-be. And that is the truth of me. Right or wrong. Fantasy or not.
The truth of it is that I don’t think any of us can help it. We pursue some kind of truth because it makes our existence valid, and valiant. The truth of companionship is the witness of our lives, and the truth of it all is that we are all afraid to be alone, and from that fear spawns every form of pleasure-seeking activity, pursuits, and entertainment known to man.
What I do not get is how, if we are so desperate for company of each other, that we can be so unkind to each other, and to the environment that makes it possible for us to live in company together. It is like we are not content to be truly happy unless we know we are capable of draining ourselves of it.
Is it a matter of control? Perhaps the search for truth is too scary, precisely because it is so utterly out of our control. Perhaps that’s why we are simultaneously mystified and terrified.
Perhaps our damage to ourselves is the only thing we can truly do – a self witness of our human capacities, our innate impulses, our physical fragility, and our flawed, fearsome minds.(The photo above is something I found while walking along the beach in a national marine preservation park near Melbourne, Australia. I have no idea what it is. Behind it are my cousin-in-law, nephew and niece, whom I met for the very first time. The photo below is what I did later that day, and most other days).