My Hatred of All-Consuming Lies

I hate lies.

On oh so many levels.

I hate the things that they cause and the causes they are meant to cover.

As a practiced liar, as we all most certainly are, I sometimes get this vibe that I am being lied to. Usually come to figure it out I'm right. Not usually dead on, but pretty close. I at least have this sinking feeling that I am being deceived.

I hate that feeling. That vibration in the bottom of your throat. It sits there and festers and creeps into everything. It's a mold. Who likes mold?

Think about it. Just a little bit of mold can ruin the entire thing. A loaf of bread, a tent, your snowboard boots. All these things when properly cared for, or stored properly, or used as directed will fulfill it's respective end of the bargain. When molded? Gracias de nada.

When we are lied to effectively and we don't notice, it's still there. It doesn't go away. It remains and becomes stronger and stranger. Until we are carried away in it. It becomes a separate entity. It grows and then forces us to feed it with more lie. Eventually the little thing has us completely under it's thumb. We become our lie's slave.

Pathetic I know but it doesn't end there. It also stains the deceiver. The lie colors this sorry individual with ocher and oil aplenty. When we know for sure or even only suspect, we watch as every time we see this person they have taken on more and more of this rotten hue.

We watch till we can bear it no longer.

And then we leave.


Lucky that there is always redemption.