Distortion is all around.  But only when we talk or walk or breathe or look one way instead of the other or when we blink or when we let our thoughts wander or when we feel pain or when we laugh out loud.  It’s only apparent it’s happened when we touch someone and forget or see a face that elicits anger or surprise.  It only occurs when we eat or drink or drive or answer the phone or make a decision or ponder too long.  

It’s possibly at the root of all things and the padding we fall on.  It most surely protects us at times, and at other times it gives us a reality we can’t get over or forget.  It pierces our veil, it brings us joy.   

It’s something we must accept.  Not with a sigh or regret.  With the greatest of acceptance, with the hug of an old friend we always knew but are just understanding how they’ve been in our lives, the impression they’ve made.   

And as days go by, I see distortion, not because she just got here, but because I am older.  I am wiser.  I am more willing to see, not just what I see, but through the lens or series of lenses.  And I see the overriding theme, the way it’s all been is distortion, whose sister might be illusion.  And yet all distortion and illusion are the truths and realities through which I have seen and experienced every second of my life.   

If only someone could have told me to love her sooner, to accept her more gracefully, instead of seeking truth, objective truth, hard truth, perfect truth.  For truth barely exists as you see more clearly, as you live less guarded, as you open without flinching.  

Truth is the illusion, the distortion we name that we have to defend, that we have to push on ourselves or others.  Truth is the name with which we call someone right and someone wrong.  And many times, we deny ourselves either the truth or the beauty of an experience that didn’t fit the story we wanted truth to be.  And it brings us so much sadness, anxiety and pain.   

I found out today.  Or many days ago.  Or maybe even today…  Distortion is really just reality, through the eyes of me. And without the negative connotation or the need to feel connected to something I want to be mine, whether story or fantasy, friend or foe, I find it is just me.  And the people I love the most are people who can share their distortion, their reality, acknowledging distortion, illusion, the vivid lust of truth, and who can love me still when we share.   

They don’t love my story, my illusion, my distortion.  They love me, the way I think.  They love what I can give them too, a safe space, a shared trust not in the outcome, but in the sharing, the connecting, the learning.  And I realize that dissipates the throngs of anxiety and pain.  At the end of each connection is another.  There is no ending or outcome.  There is this beauty and light, and it started with trusting me.  When there are breaks between connection or sharing, there is me.  And I see me. And I trust me.  And I can now live the life I see, my distortion of reality.   

With love,  

CC

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