We can not help but to
communicate in some way. There are those who must tell their stories, even to
strangers. The urge to tell. The energy and impulse become so great; they just
blurt it out like water falling to fill the space. Silence.
There are those, few
but enough that throw out stories, mis trust, deception to retrain a dark part
of themselves. A part which pains or frightens. A secrete part closely guarded.
Invulnerable.
Perhaps shared with
only one other soul. The stuff of identity and being.
The funny thing is
that thrown out lies are a magical type of mirror to the secrete truth.
Some lies are obviously
the opposite, particularly when spoken under stress.
But when the lie is
spoken with planning. The words show a trace, a faint echo of the real truth.
The truth sometimes so clear that on confrontation is denied and then pushed
deeper.
Lies are an important
part of our world. We trade in lies. It slows us the truth. That is our work.
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