Tag Archives: the truth

The Truth.[ edited]

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Unheard of by the mainstream on any continent, the Plymouth Brethren were the collective, non-denominational Christian sect which held domain over the first twenty five years of my life. From infancy through the end of my university education I regularly heard, from their pulpit:

“We have The Truth.”

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But, of course, they didn’t.

They – their earliest Bible scholars hailing from Scotland and Ireland, establishing Assemblies in America by the late 1800s, enduring repeated schism through the 20th century, and continuing to splinter off across the threshold of the 21st –  just believed that they did.

And, this belief, once I realized that it was only a belief, set me on a quest which would become a theme, occupying my days for twenty five more years and beyond.

I’d embarked on my own, earnest search for the truth.

Only, this time, I would settle for nothing less.

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First, the intention was benign enough: just simply vow to always speak the truth. Seemed easy – never, knowingly, make a false statement, to anyone. I was confident that, were I to tell the truth, somehow nothing but the truth would return to me, in kind.

This confidence was uninformed.

As life took us all through various levels of schooling and gainful employ, it grew increasingly remarkable to me how frequently, and ably, those around me could toss off a lie.

My little brother, whom I genuinely loved, was particularly adept.

Too oblivious, and fearful, was I to realize that he had harnessed a tactic which, in many ways, was motivated by my own behavior; whenever he needed to assert himself in the eyes of both our parents and my [ then overshadowing ] presence, he’d pop another just as easily as a hen lays a hot one.

But, to my ears, the lies were both awe-inspiring and mildly frightening. I felt their power, the alternate reality they created, recognizing that all it took for that reality to take hold in our parents’ eyes was their trust in the veracity they had allegedly instilled in us. It would take years for me to realize that truth was a precious commodity, and that I was surrounded by imposters.

But, the fear of God had imbued me with a certain fortitude; I would honor the truth, all the more fervently.

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Few shared my passion.

Behavioral scientists had determined that those whose reality seemed hopeless would take to creating one in their own minds for solace. But, those who imposed theirs on others for personal gain were the real predators. Most had learned that trust was a vital prerequisite to contriving a convincing reality. Either these had been taught this by example, or some random experience had been brought to bear; whichever the case, trust was the liar’s first prey.

And, the liar succeeded by isolating the gullible, those whose trust, for whatever cause, was blindly automatic.

I was among their prime targets.

Initially, this made manifest in “the butt of the joke” which, of course, was yours truly.  Exploiting the trust of the gullible teaches that a lie can hurt, and I learned to feel its isolating pain.

Perhaps the memory of this pain dulled my resolve; admittedly, the time would come wherein my veracity would be tested.

The stage of life which presented the greatest challenge to my determined commitment to truth was young adulthood. A late bloomer by all standards, I was still living with my parents at age 25, following graduation from college. Once the opportunity arose to establish autonomy from them I moved out, while they were on vacation in Florida. My lifestyle, though hardly promiscuous by most standards, just prior to and following my leave taking I’d attempted to withhold from my family. This was my first venture into the realm of deceit.

And, because I had to justify this deceit in my own mind, rationale stepped up. Only one thing trumped full disclosure: the bonds of love. I needed my parents’ love, and that of my family; revealing everything about my life to them would have caused everyone involved pain, and created enmity, I decided.

Interestingly, now that I am older and fully autonomous, nothing about my life is hidden from anyone. There is no longer any motive for deceit.

(And, by way of history, my beloved brother cast off his childhood penchant in favor of a life as practical missionary. He has also, for 25 years, been the devoted husband to one wife, raised five boys, and repeatedly sacrificed his every personal desire in the service of his wife and family.)

Nevertheless, “bearing false witness” is the bane of both safe, and secure, existence. It renders a climate of suspicion, demands of its generation a degree of wariness that drains health, and obscures any possibility for mutual trust. A society of liars is, at best, one which renders its members in constant competition for power over the running story and the constituents in place to believe it.

All have known the discovery of a perpetrated lie. All know the stages of emotional response. And, all know the tenacious effects, long after the deed is done.

If I have a prayer at all, it is that humanity return to its earliest recognized truth, laying hold of and marketing its value to anyone who will hear. And, most of all, I pray for those with the courage to tell it.

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo  11/16/16     – All rights those of the author, whose name appears above this line. Thank you for your trustworthiness.

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The Climate of Corruption.

 

Yeah. Okay. Weak title. (How can corruption have a climate?) The grammarians will get me, right out of the gate.

But, kids, we live in one.

I’m letting Donald Trump pontificate while I practice Bach. Now, there’s a dichotomy.

Are we getting the frantic atmosphere, anymore?

The Gee Oh Pee boys are in full on playground recess rumble. The crowd goes wild. The crowd. Where’s the beer? Oh, there. Fill me up, buddy. Ya got bikers, with an assault weapon collection sitting in their den, standing next to the fresh frosh from Liberty U. Ya got the new monied real estate acquisitionists (mark that) spread trading on their iPhones, next to the women who just came out of the kitchen (know it.) Yeah, yeah. Stereotyping? I don’t have to. It’s the Mega Church meets MAAD Magazine.

When I hear that Washington will be completely upheaved, figuratively burned to the ground, OF COURSE I DREAM. But, then, I w.a.k.e. u.p.  Because, the President doesn’t make a.l.l. the decisions. The President must collaborate. And, last time I checked, collaboration isn’t a bully’s strong suit.

But, actually, at this point, I even wonder if a single vote will ultimately count. That’s where I fall on this Friday afternoon. The technological revolution has taken over, and the drivers at the helm, bought and paid for to tweak the machines……I can’t decide if the Democrats will dictate, or the GOP, or Donald Trump, who could effectively buy anything(BUT WITH HIS OWN MONEY)……. I only know that the most cunning, the most stealthy, the most aggressive, and the most determined crook will likely pull the last lever.

God, bless America. Wherever you are, please remember us. We just woke up one morning to a glorious country, and grew up believing in it. Our parents did, too. They provided for our future, sure that this was the only place where we could hope to have one. How were we to know that the truth would be taken from us, and never given back?

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© Ruth Ann Scanzillo  2/26/16  All rights, you know the rest. Liars and thieves, the only thing you ever produce is your own excrement. Take; eat. You know you want it.

Thanks.

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