Month: September 2016

I prefer to call it Autumn – just a nice word all around. And that simple question set my mind off because I like everything about Autumn.

Autumn feels like home. Not that it reminds me of any place I have ever lived, Autumn IS a place. A physical place I inhabit,  it is home.

It is so easy to wax lyrical about the Fall – the colors, of course, how obvious. But the light – the light is different in the Fall. The sun is lower in the sky and the afternoons come sooner. The light is filtered by orange, red and yellow leaves. It is light that wraps itself around you and holds you close and dear.

The air smells crisp and clean, you can touch it and taste it – like the Autumn apples symbolic of the season. If by some chance, someone, somewhere, is burning the fallen leaves, the smell and wisps of smoke add a layer of warmth and magic.

A late afternoon thunderstorm – the sky a dark grey blanket, almost bare branches tapping at the window covered in wet and windblown russet leaves…It makes me feel protected and safe.

Some people find Autumn a little sad, they think of it as the beginning to the end – of Summer, of the year, of their lives.

September is my New Year and a time of beginnings, October, the grandest month of the year, is my birth month. Autumn is everything to me. It is me. It is my home. It is my safe place.

But I understand those who feel differently…

I read something last week where the author prides themself on over-sharing; telling the unvarnished truth even tipping over into TMI. They want everyone to know every little thing about them. They wish to be known down to their last little foible. Their every thought and opinion presented but not judged.

To be known. Deep down in your heart of hearts; even to the dark parts of your soul. Should you? Should we be that transparent, that naked?

While I have been cogitating on that the Universe has been throwing various aspects of it in my way.

I often think, don’t know if I have said, that I wish I was known, not famous you understand, but that someone knew me. Knew all of me. Knew all of my life; knew all of my darkness as well as the light. Knew what I have said and done and thought and felt. I know that some of my words and deeds and beliefs would discomfort some people; would have them judge me harshly, just as some of my words and deeds and beliefs would raise me in their esteem.

We humans seem to have a need to be known. We want to put it all out there; dump it all out on the table and have someone partake of it all, not pick and choose what pleases them.

The unvarnished truth; the naked truth about ourselves – all of it. Do we even know it, how then to share it? Should we?

We crave complete and unconditional acceptance. Is that even possible? Should it be?

Keeping something of yourself for yourself alone; keeping your secrets to enjoy, because yes, some secrets can be joyful, happy – those wild dreams and fantasies and what-ifs. We want to hold some of them close, do we not?  And do we not all have something we wish to hide, and wish we didn’t?

So I am torn – I want to tell it all – the unvarnished, naked truth; my unvarnished naked truth. But who, or what, would it serve? Only me. Only my insecurities and my hubris.

There is that line about never lying because then you don’t have to remember what you said. Telling the truth regardless of the consequence because it’s the right thing to do – telling the truth. Right for whom?

So this is a mish-mash of talking about truth telling as opposed to lying, and truth telling to – what – find love, acceptance, relieve guilt, feel connected, be known.

Perhaps the naked truth should remain clothed; the unvarnished truth retain some polish, or perhaps we should be like Gregory Corso–