- Kymberlie ~ WriterOfTheStorm.com
- Kymberlie Ingalls is native to the Bay Area in California. She is a pioneer in blogging, having self-published online since 1997. Her style is loose, experimental, and a journey in stream of consciousness. Works include personal essay, prose, short fictional stories, and a memoir in progress. Thank you for taking a moment of your time to visit. Beware of the occasional falling opinions. For editing services: http://www.kymberlieingalls.com/p/editing-services.html
Saturday, June 25, 2011
The truth about lies is that we don’t always know when we’re telling them. And when we do know, most of us stay in denial, convincing and justifying until we’ve given ourselves a reinvented truth.
Little lies – “You look fabulous!,” “Mmm, tastes great!,” “Can’t make it in today.. sick..” give way to bigger fibs – “You mean so much to me.” “It’s not you, it’s me,” “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
It’s when a calculated risk is added that it becomes more dangerous, more appealing, more… hurtful. This is when we begin to believe our own lies, and the lies of others. Most of us need to believe whatever we want to so desperately that it cuts off the oxygen supply to our smarts. Suddenly the alarms go silent, the blinders are firmly in place, and the fog blocks out any chance of good sense. This is what many salaciously call a fantasy.
The reality of fantasies is that it’s a mask, to hide our inner desires, our basic instincts … our fears. So many colors, shapes, sizes – no mask is the same aside from the common thread of a suffocating need. Society is one big masquerade ball, our lives being a very long party that we constantly spend looking for one whom we can reveal what is beneath, what is hidden. But the instant our vulnerability is at risk, the masks go back up and we delude ourselves with make-believe.
A party is much more arousing with all of the moon’s enticing intrigue, than in the light of a cold gray morning when the streamers have fallen and the colors are nothing more than a wretched rainbow derived from the madness that is suppressed deep within us all.
Whoever said “a little fantasy never hurt anyone” hasn’t made it to the end of the party yet – hasn’t gotten to the hangover of their drunken lies. Some can’t face their reflections long enough to see the truth of their unintended deceptions, some of us stare long enough until we transform unintentions into truth.
A lie always loses its shadow, and is always chased away by the dawn.
This is the biggest truth of them all.