I like the me that writes. She has a clear eye, she can see through the crowded landscape of feelings and thoughts and hurts to the heart of the matter. Through to what matters. The journey there is easy for her. She doesn’t get caught up in what others think or feel and knows in a place other than her mind what the truth is. And even if that truth is not the consensus of opinions, she has enough about her not to be concerned about this. She knows and that is enough for her.
My other part is more conventional. She can get hung up on what he, she and they said or did. What was meant on the outside and how it contrasted with the inside and she will search out the gap between them so she can insert a mind like an oyster knife and shuck the white flesh out into the open to squirm and gasp in the light of day, whilst she interrogates it to find out what ACTUALLY happened.
The strange thing about this process is that it is ultimately unsatisfactory. The truth does not possess the capacity to set us free, because beneath this exposed layer lies another and another and each reveal presents us with less to know and more to ask. It is not the knowing that has the answer, it is asking the question itself. Within that question is the seed of true knowledge, that of knowing what is important to us. And more important still, what is not.
Recently my sons asked me about the extent of my infidelity regarding their father, prompted, I feel, by inappropriate sharing from him, but I would wouldn’t I? I knew that they did not want to know these facts no matter that it seemed so important at the time. What they wanted to know was, was I still their mother. Could I have done these things and still be their mother? I could and was, of course but the fact that their father would have encouraged them to do this in the name of truth remains one of the most difficult aspects of an unpleasant separation for me to come to terms with. Just who was served by this ripping away of decency from the position of the moral high-ground? And what was gained by whom, at what cost?
The desire to know the truth is not one that can be allayed by words no matter how revealing they are. Truth lies within us, to be found and held close. Truth is, I don’t care about what someone I love has done in the past, no matter how close. What I care about is if I can I look in their eyes and see connection. Can I feel them close when we are separated by miles? Do my dreams and hopes have them in them? Do they make my spirit soar and set my mind free?
This is the knowledge I need.