Lies. We live with them. Depending on the occasion, social circumstances and spiritual availabilities, we tolerate them, we ridicule them, we ignore them, we underestimate them, we detest them, we cherish them, we refine them and, if we really must, we fight them. Often than we realize, we take all the above necessary “psychological actions” at the same time.
No one has a comfortable relationship with one’s lies; yet, we’re grotesquely profuse in fables, misstatements, disinformation, near-truths, partial-truths, exaggerations, calumnies, tricks, well-intentioned untruths, subterfuges, false colours, and other stories. We’re a breathtaking parade of voluntary and involuntary distortions. We display a fascinating representation of misery and excess, an irresistible lack of equilibrium and dignity, a tumultuous propensity to dissipation and abuse.
Indeed, we often are what we lie. Just as we are best defined by our goals – that is, by our yet-to-be’s -, we are also defined by our lies; that is, by our most synthetic could-be’s.
We often end up living our lie as if it is our most painful and crucial truth.
I’ve seen liars who would gladly let themselves be crucified for their lie. They would know all the answers to Pontius Pilate’s questions.