Secrets confuse me.
Not in their use or application or anything like that. I fully understand why people hold truths close to them and never let go. It seems only natural, given that we’ve all done something foolish at one point or another, that we’d like to keep some things to ourselves. What puzzles me is how we deal with a secret. How we live with a secret. How a secret takes its toll on us.
You’d think that it would be an affirmation of existence, that it would uplift you to know that you are aware of truths that no other being has ever known. That your kingdom of knowledge possesses lands exclusive to you. No one else, living or dead, has known these things. It may sound petty, but given that many of the things you know are also known by thousands or millions or billions of others, it is a testament to your unique human experience.
But of course that’s not how any of us really see it. Maybe that’s how we’d like to see it (how I’d like to see it at least) but we never do. No, secrets wrap themselves around your heart like a serpent and squeeze. They weigh on you like lead. Your body physically rejects your exclusive, personal knowledge and insists that you spit it out like sour milk. And your body rewards you for it by taking all of that imaginary weight off of your shoulders, and calling back the serpent around your heart.
You’d think we’d revel in secrets, because they are one of the few fundamental things we can have to ourselves. But it just ain't so.
Created: Jul 19, 2012christopher.harn Document Media