What is the biggest fib that you have ever said? What is the worst thing that you have ever done? When I go to church I usually count the eyes that watch every movement I make. Of course, I always fail to reach the final number. There are a lot of eyes in the church but none is as powerful as the eye that stands inside the golden triangle. That particular eye is so big that it needs a pyramid to sit on. That particular eye likes to look inside your guts; it scans and logs every movement of your organs and it makes value judgements according to the state of decay you are in. If your stomach is feeble it means that there is something wrong in you and into your life. But the eye does nothing about it and the brightest answer it can give is always ‘an eye is made for sight, not for healing.’ Well, of course the eye can do nothing about it because it is just an eye. On the other hand, the eye heals the problems of the soul, that ghostly figure which lingers in every living body. Even dogs have it, cats also, horses, even birds.
So, what is the biggest fib that you have ever said? No, of course you didn’t touch your brother’s collection of stamps. No, you did not forget your keys; it is your father’s fault. No, you don’t secretly hate your grandparents sometimes. No, you have never wanted your best friend get hurt. Of course I have never done these things. Sometimes when I hide things I feel powerful, thinking that lies are bricks that build a wall between me and the others.
‘What is your biggest fib again?’ he asked.
‘What do you want from me?’ I asked back.
‘You can’t answer a question with another question. It is not logical. What I want is fear,’ he said.
So, lies are no longer bricks to build a wall but rather pills of fear. Every time I meet a person I have lied to I swallow another pill of fear, without the glass of water that washes the acerbic taste away. Each lie has that acerbic taste on the back of the tongue. It reminds me of how often I lie not only to the others but to myself. To lie to myself, the acuteness of that particular taste is breath-taking in a very bad way.
‘What do you want?’ he asked me.
I said I wanted the truth and he laughed.
Somebody then told me that I have to accept the untruth as well because it is an inevitable part of our existence. Why does it always have to be the truth? So I made a black lie for me in order to feel better. After all, who am I to argue? Oh, but it is I, the indestructible Ego. Then the wind blew and Ego had nothing left and he didn’t feel so indestructible anymore.
‘There is always love!’ Ego howled.
‘Can you sell love? Can you eat it?’ somebody asked Ego.
Ego thought that love is love, you can’t escape it. You feel it in your soul when it happens. The wind blew again and he couldn’t do anything about it. White lies are made to make the others feel better, black lies are made to make you feel better. Ego waited but nothing happened, not even love.
‘You still have friendship!’ Ego howled again.
No one answered this time. So he stood, famished. Nothing happened. Both love and friendship stubbornly refused to materialise.
Then, Ego committed suicide and still nothing happened. Long speeches were held at his funeral and people said he was a good man and he wanted nothing for himself. Some people said that they shall never forget him and that they shall go to his tomb every day. Once, they were too hungry to go and they left Ego alone again.
I still don’t know what your biggest fib is.
Oh, forget about love, I’m famished. We can love again after dinner.
Oh, forget about love, I’m tired. We can love again in the morning.
Oh, forget about love, I have to go to work. We can love again when I get back.
What is your fib again?
[Love is a black lie.]