Friday, March 14, 2014

Lying - Day 14

Lying surfaces in many ways. The feeling that you are lying is unmistakable. It is a feeling I could describe as acute and as something of a freefall. The moorings have been pulled. The ground isn't steady. This can go in any direction. Any thought of the future is distant, the present moment is all there is.
    The first time I had this feeling was when I wasn't lying directly. In fact, I rarely lie. I may not offer the truth, I may hoard secrets but when asked directly I am better at oblique evasion than at straight out lying. I don't have the nerve. I'm afraid to lie, afraid to get caught. Life is simpler without having to remember what you said to whom. I forget what truths I have spoken and to whom but the most that that can lead to is a slight embarrassment. My kiss and tell days are long over. You can never trust if the best friend you are telling your secrets too in college will be even someone you still know ten years after. Tell it all to the stranger on the bus. The guys at work.
    My tactic once was to blab indiscriminately to the person who happened to be in front of me, close or not. About any gory personal detail. Not necessarily about other peoples gory details, mind you, but shamelessly about my own. My life is scattered among the many ears I have filled. And I have filled ears, I have talked and talked. With mounting passion, with humour, with snippy cynicism. People still come up to me and say something like, 'you once said something to me that I've never forgotten….'. Well I have. Fifteen minutes after I said it. Happy to be an inspiration nonetheless.
    The feeling of lying I recall as being so distinct was because I wasn't lying directly, in fact I wasn't lying with words. I was prolonging my crying way beyond my need to cry. I did this as a small child to get attention. I didn't get the attention I sought but I got the unmistakable feeling that I was lying. I was faking out my cry. Can't they hear me ? Why aren't they coming ? Maybe just a little more and they'll come. My real heartfelt hurt was extended beyond its lifespan, into the realm of hollow sounds, any meaning in it dwindled away. How much longer should I keep this charade up ? No one is coming.