Nocturne #34 – The Pricelessness of Truth

A lie is a distortion of reality, its fake copy, a shadow born not from light, but from deceit upon light itself. We live in an environment where lies are valuable, lying is a common business. Lying is an uncomfortable, profitable game.

A friend of mine says there are kind lies and evil lies. A kind lie is saying, “You look beautiful,” when it doesn’t correspond to objective truth at all. But if we look at it simply, it’s falsehood and simulation that just tires us out, because giving this compliment requires us to act, to perform. And acting isn’t an easy job.

Lies are always written on people’s foreheads. As if they have an invisible label hanging there that others don’t notice, but for me, it’s so obvious I can’t even understand how it’s possible not to see it. I feel like a medium when someone deviates from reality – at that moment, words seem to sound different, intonation hesitates for a second, the gaze frantically searches for a safe place to hide. And yet, despite this, sometimes I say nothing. I observe, I listen, I follow their fake river’s course like a kayak, as if I were a silent accomplice. They continue their story, pretending not to know I’m onto their game. But, in reality, we both know – I know they’re lying, they know I know, and they still continue.

I can’t lie. My body, my mind, my nature completely blocks this possibility. I have some biological resistance to it – if I try, everything immediately errors out, and the truth bursts to the surface on its own. Maybe this isn’t always convenient – some truths are so heavy that, as my friend might say, sometimes a beautifully wrapped lie is human self-preservation. But I can’t. Any lie is discomfort for me. Lies are never unlimited – sooner or later, their expiration date will surely come, and as they say – “the curtain will be lifted” (or however it goes).

I value authenticity and sincerity. The freedom that these qualities bring. Truth is priceless. I know it’s not always easy, but the only right path is the search for truth and veracity. My directness is both my strength and my weakness – I don’t mince words, I don’t wrap them up prettily, I don’t weigh them to make them easier for others to hear. What I think, I say; how I am, is how I appear.

And, perhaps, that’s precisely why I still love myself. Because I don’t play roles, I don’t try to be someone else, I don’t lie to myself. What I am, I am, and for me, that’s enough.