I See She

The recent correspondence with She of Some 40 Years of Questionable Trust began back in August 2019. I kept copies of my letters, notes and the single postcard I sent to her. Because I knew.

I Knew.

Thankfully, I knew.

One short phone conversation on bomb-drop pi day has her saying to me, "You're wrong."

Of course I am. I speak the truth, then my truth, and I'm wrong. Fucking rich. Fucking predictable.

Lying has - apparently - taken on a new respectability in these days we live in. All we have to do is look to the US president, his administration, not to mention the current so-called front runner of the Democratic (hah!) Primary to bear witness to this sad, regrettable truth. Not to mention cable news. And then some. But all that foolishness aside...

For She to share a lie, an especially vicious lie, with someone who's life is fading, who has little or no recourse to seek truth on their own, and to do it knowingly - knowingly - is beyond me. Beyond beyond. This slimy shard is so hard to hold. I want to crush and crumble it to oblivion, but it would slip from my grasp, or cut me, or both. A part of me would love to throw it in the face of She, but that would be cruel, and that cruelty belongs to her, not to me.

So I hold this slick, piercing shard, gingerly, as I seek the goodness, the Medicine, and the love that it holds. Or, perhaps, I'm mistaken, and this darkness will be the exception that proves the rule?

It's got me wondering what is truth and what is not, and if such... concepts actually matter.

::sigh::

Peace. 🕊