Truth as is, is elusive. Something as fundamental as the truth (or “the fact”—an issue of purity) is so mundane yet so elusive — let alone its purest form. However, no passing day exists without an iota of truth in it. We all live in truth; in every dealing we undertake. Conversely, where there is truth, there is falsehood, deception, and all of its kin; but this is a discussion for another day …or is it?
By truth does every man live but in lies do we have our being.
To exist, we search for truth first. Looking at facts, every conscious existence seeks to blindly accept some fundamental truth. Consider the example of a newly hatched bird. This bird will have some consciousness—that is, by the very fact that it is now alive. Note: “consciousness”, which is also termed “awareness”, is different from “conscience”—which is a part of the conscious being, one that yields itself into selective consciousness. The bird is conscious. To begin it its existence in this unknown world, it would seek some guidance; some initial truths.
It is characteristic of every new comer to understand the culture of its environment from masters who have experience in the environment.
— paraphrased version of the Chicken on one leg African proverb.
The first group of mammals (or creatures) it sees and receives compassion from, it accepts as family. The first sound it hears, it recognizes as tone. As these tones consistently superimpose, cascading into collections, this young bird embraces this consistency as language. Over time, this language forms the basis of what is accepted as a primary mode of communication. The first sequence of movements it undertakes which successfully moves it from one point to another, it accepts as the true means of transportation; and from here is builds a certain “language of movement“. The uniform color it sees on those it chooses to be family it connotes as “the norm”; and if all birds are grouped by their feathers, fur and skin, it joins this new colony. “Compassion” may not be the exact emotion every new comer searches for in picking a family but whatever gives off a soothing feeling to one’s cause. In the case of this young bird, survival. Hence compassion and companionship is desired. Over time, Truth slowly builds. Indoctrination sets in, unknowingly to this young bird. With smiles on its face, it walks—with back bent—on both crowed foot and feathers foraging through the forest greens, climbing the tallest trees, braving the farthest swings, all to being home the curved soft yellow goodness to a fur-skinned grumpy-faced beauty he calls… “wife”.
What’s weird? Nothing right? An orangutan and a bird observing puppy love; an inter-species act!
Until someday, Mrs. Flutter Wings demands the brightest of the soft curvy goodness one could find. “They are the best”, she gibbered, “they get the most sun”. Irrespective of his size, he was respected as one with the most heart. This was not a time to throw down that achievement in fear that no one—not even the biggest and most muscular of his brothers—had ever braved this tree which proudly shot outside their canopy. She is all he has ever known. As it was the custom, he clenched the tip of his wings in promise. Creaked his unoiled knees so far straight. With his gaze locked on hers, his clenched feathers pounded on his bosom in assurance. Slowly his body spun away from away from her to face his next task; his head being the last thing to turn. “This is do or die”, he chirped.
Life is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain.
— Robert Jordan “The Great Hunt”; Book 2 of The Wheel of Time
With a jolt of purpose he began his climb; one foot at a time – clawing through the barks leaving his marks of courage—he forged on this new path. The sun grew bored of watching this painful climb and closed its eyes. Still he forged on. “For the love of one”, he chanted mechanically. “For the love of the one in whom I am complete.” Such thoughts kept his back stretching and flexing as he fought the fear that one wrong move will send him to the ground with a thud that thunder hadn’t learned to utter. Still, all thanks to the economy of the emotion—the price of gas was low, and adrenaline kept pumping. On reaching the top, he let his back arch into the comfortable position he knew. Exhausted from promise he fell face down into a bunch of this curved yellow goodness.
Is this love… Is this love… Is this love… Is this love that I’m feelaaing?
As soon as he could catch a breadth from winds so alien, so pure, so invigorating, he upheld his feathers celebrating victory and allowed his mind bask in thoughts of achievement: the pride of descending the tree, the respect from his muscled brothers, the joy of his fur-skinned grumpy-faced wife—hopefully she’d smile for once. All these thoughts came from the soothing air carried in the wind. Achievement never felt this good.
Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened. — Sir Winston Churchill
After basking in his achievement, he upturned his face to the heavens in appreciation. And the sight he was exposed to was beyond anything he had seen while under the canopy of majestic trees. Intricate curvatures of white rocks suspended in a sea which seemed to overhang. And in this peaceful undisturbed overhanging sea, there is the radiance whose colour was exactly like the soft curvy goodness Mrs. Flutter Wings had demanded. It was so enlightening. “They must be kin”, he thought. Pure bewilderment enveloped him at this point. How Mrs. Flutter Wings knew about the kin of such radiance made no sense to him. And as his mind was about to recede into thought, something even more startling happened: the white soft rock with intricate sides got pierced through. “What in the heck…?” He jumped to his feed to catch a glimpse of who could have done this. To his bewilderment, he saw himself in the clouds; a direct replica of his frame and person.
Disbelief in magic can force a poor soul into believing in government and business [and standards]
— Tom Robbins
His image came closer to him. And as quickly as he could, he established his territory; as he had been taught by his grey furred brothers to. In a swift swoop, his image, Angie, reached in and landed as graceful as leaflets bless the earth with droplets from the morning dew. “Hey, you are just like me”, Angie said; her eyes bright in awe, “what is your name?”. His prance which he used to reenforce his territory came to an abrupt halt when he realized he understood every word Angie spoke. Something resonated on the inside. He stood dumbfounded at the level of introversion his belief had put him. “You’re like a baby”, Angie continued, taking his wings and playfully flapping them for him. Slowly he opened his curtains of belief to let this fresh wonder sink in. An innate warmth began to build. In order not to sound dumb, he offered her a banana—originally meant for his wife! Thunder erupted from Angie’s beaks in laughter, “we don’t eat that.” Here came the dejection he feared, for he knew not how to handle dejection. Wing in wing they talked for what seemed to be minutes but was actually hours. Then Angie got an idea! Without telling him, he nudged him off the top of the tree. Immediately, he prayed to the gods of branches and swings to accept his soul, grant Mrs. Flutter Wings the curvy yellow goodness she always wanted and forgive him for his inability to provide. “This is the end” …or so he thought.
If you want to endure life, prepare yourself for death.
— Sigmund Freud, “Essay on War and Death”
Hours passed. Down beneath the canopy, Mrs. Flutter Wings grew restless and obviously more grumpy. Her brothers tried to comfort her with their faith in Mr. Flutter Wings but she would not be easily pacified. She knew she could not make the climb. She knew none in the clan will ever attempt the climb. So as any realistic and rationalist being, she had to let go of fantasies and settle for what the constructs of her mind defined as “possible”. She got together with Mr. Strong Arms, who presented her with some curvy goodness which was lime in color; foregoing the lush yellowness she ad originally craved. She settled. Her grumpiness still isn’t cured. But this is what she has to work with. This is what she would do.
Realistically, being positive isn’t always realistic.
— Alishia May
Up and above, Mr. Flutter Wings learned more and more about his true nature as time went by. He soared through the sky; calling to Angie with every new discovery he had just made. He began to fancy this new way of movement. Something about creating sinusoids in the cloud gave him the rush; his feet thanked him for the less work, the speeds at which he could travel was unlike any other. These new-found skills seemed god-like. The last thing he noticed was his eyesight—analogous to what human religion terms “enlightenment”). He could read a book from hundreds of miles away, tell the gender of terrestrial insects from beyond the clouds, his horizon exploded!
Then it happened. He saw his woman down below with another. His soul froze, alongside his motion. His heart sank alongside his body into an abyss which felt like forever’s promise of tomorrow. Angie saw the fall and quickly swooped down to nudge him back into consciousness—not his original consciousness but a blend of that and the newly discovered. Angie broke his fall. And with the help of the recently accustomed-to power in his wings, he stabilized himself. As promised he brings the curved yellow goodness to Mrs. Flutter Wings. The entire clan underneath the tree canopy cheered loudly; for he was the first of their brothers to accomplish this. But he came with Angie. “I know what you’ve done; I know you have young Mr. Strong Arms inside you.” The words moved Mrs. Flutter Wings—now Mrs. Strong Arms, to tears. “But I understand the need. I discovered who I am when I was up there, thanks to Angie”, he pointed to where Angie was standing, tall and proud, “I have discovered new boundaries and I cannot stay here no more. But I promise to watch over you, and all my brothers, from the sea above; for you all are my heart.” Grand Maestro Grumpy Face cracked a smirk, “But there is no one there, Flutter Wings. Who’s Angie?” In an instant, Flutter Wings came to his senses and realized Angie was a construct of his imagination, a developmental tango between self and ego. She smiled at him and slowly faded away; leaving all experiences and wisdom behind. He had been reborn.
And that is how the eagle came to watch over all the animals; from a distorted truth imposed on itself by happenstance.
— corny iGravity™ statement which isn’t needed really (:
Children, irrespective of the situation you find yourself in, remember that the answer is not somewhere out there in the world but deep within your hearts. Take time out to do some soul-searching. In finding yourself—dare I say understanding all aspects brought together to make you—finding answers to the problems which reality poses on you will be as mechanical as clockwork. You are your truth.