Once upon a time a friend of mine told me that the Story is the bare Truth covered with a colourful cloak where shine the stars, the dawn, the colors of all kind. And whenever the bare Truth tried to come up the people, they refused her and turned her away. But as soon as the Truth got dressed with the cloak of the Story, then the people rallied round her and she could told and be heard with joy and some attention.

But it seems it's not working anymore. Time has passed and how rotten it has gotten the Truth's cloak. Her bright fainted, her color has been erased. Her stars fell and the clothe's all ragged out.
Who sees the Truth now walks away as fast as possible, crosses the street and forgets that vision before it is too much inside in the back of the mind. The Truth can be dressed in gold, in silver, in meteors of the space. That doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't convey anyone's attention towards her. It doens't move the people's conscience, it doesn't mean a thing.

Once upon a time the Truth believed that her infelicity and loneliness were due her raw, bare and plain traits, for the crudeness of her being.
Poor truth... Dressed herself, called the people's attention, but she just forgot that no matter where the lamb is drinking in the same river together the wolf, the wolf will always blame the lamb, saying that he's turning his water dirty. Because the wolf is not interested in how dirty or clean the water is, not even in knowing if it is true when the lamb proves that he's now drinking down the river, so he cannot be the blame whether the wolf's water is dirty or not... The first and unique desire of the wolf is to eat the lamb. That was the only truth. The momentaneous truth which the wolf served himself good for that single moment. And tomorrow: another truth, another lamb. And the river runs along.

It has a name. Pragmatism. When someone ties the useful to the meaning of the truth. In a short: I'm not able to do anything up to the moment when the oportunity is offered me. Do you know?

When someone tells you about the own beliefs: The will of working hard to make a better world; The strong will against alchool and drugs; the worries about the Nature, the global warming, the humanity... Then comes the pragmatism, when an individual Will replaces that first global one, and that someone learns that to work for the own sake only pays back much much more and suddenly, he/she is doing all to go higher and higher, leaving all behind: The own moral and the good will, the dignity, the value and the character which has been wasted away, which was really "handed ahead".

And that same someone who used to talk about ecological conscience, about life and its wonders, finishes the own life with a roll of absurdities that not even an old wolf would be able to realize one day, from lamb to lamb the truth covered itself into lots of skulls and skeletons, and mud and a wide cloak of darkness... The skulls of the traison between men and women, between friends, between co-workers; the skeletons of the money earned upon fakes, upon other ones work, upon too much pain and lack of responsibility that provoked still more pain and sacrifice from other ones; the mud of the words said and that made a way turned into what they really meant: lies, shameless, lack of respect, hate, fakes, cruelty; and the darkness of the own soul that after covering itself with that cloak turned into the most bare, ugly and ordinary truth of all times.

And if a wolf offers you the chance to drink in the same river... be thirsty, and go away. No water is worthy to be paid that price for your own truth in colored and bright cloak.

Patricky Field

June 08th, 2007