I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately where the honesty and painful revelations of individuals astounds, humbles and appals me … and I’m not entirely sure which reaction is stronger.
Oddly, I completely comprehend the necessity to vomit out the complications of a wounded psyche and try, with words, to create a semblance of understanding. It is (I think) like lancing a boil, allowing the poison to trickle out, the pressure to be relieved. For surely, one has to expel the thoughts which tumble and roil in our heads, the twisted, hurting emotions which can destroy equilibrium and create an imbalance in our psyches that is detrimental and at times, fatal.
Certainly, the way my own thoughts tumble and fight and create in mind and soul confusion and a terrible lethargy, followed often by a rage whose very nature frightens, is most decidedly worth an outlet of some description! And when the ecstasy of an encounter leaves one breathless and so full up that your joy brims over …
But other than in euphemisms and veiled references, I find it incredibly difficult to open myself to the extent to ANYONE– something someone close to me labels DIShonesty. My own thoughts are inevitably couched in terms that are at best, open to various interpretations, at worst, incomprehensible. I just don’t seem to be capable of truly opening up … and yet… and yet .. I do NOT see myself as either dishonest nor by nature, exclusionary.
In today’s society where privacy is seemingly non-existent, where individuals blare forth every passing thought and experience in facebook, myspace, blogs, twitters …. are we necessarily being fair to those of us who for whatever reason – psychological, emotional, culturally, CANNOT or, truth be told, choose NOT to?
Surely the world is large enough for everyone?
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
`Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'
`I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'
`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
This, I find, an apt quotation in that one of the issues I struggle with is that we are all so multi-faceted, so complicated and there are so many factors that influence or otherwise impact on each of us, that a facile rendering of apparent facts can create confusion and false interpretations.
Does anyone else feel that way? That as time clicks away in seconds and moments of our realities, so that the imperceptible erosion of the thread of life which Fate holds in her hand is pulled inexorably tighter, that vast universes of experiences occur between the greeting of dawn and the cessation of reality when we close our eyes each night?
I have claimed in the past that I NEED writing in order to release the pressure of thoughts suppressed and a voice strangled in my throat. Yet, in hindsight, I realize in my own convoluted illogical way, I am incapable of trusting anyone or anything enough to vocalize – written or otherwise.
Not that I have NOT been honest. With one person and one person only, I have opened parts of myself and taken the risk of (and been) hurt terribly. Conversely, offering that kind of vulnerability also opens one to a reciprocal sharing, the blending of which is beyond words.
The quandary of course is whether one has the courage to choose the sublime, knowing the despair ….
In the end, I read the blogs and marvel at the courage.