Liar, Liar

Somebody lied to me.  This time it wasn’t for my own good.  They didn’t lie to me directly, they did it in the most underhanded way, they convinced some one else that they were telling me the truth.  That is the greatest deception of all.

The person that told me these things believed what she told me.  Why shouldn’t she? The person who told her these things should have been working in her best interest, she was even paid to do so.  It was a classic con.  The liar had something this woman wanted more than anything, she took her into her confidence.  She said that she was revealing more than she really should, she didn’t tell most people this much.  The things she told her were plausible, the fact that they weren’t pleasant made them that much more believable.

It was a great story, it had a beginning, middle, and end.   Each character was painted fully enough that the listener could, if not understand, at least accept, their motivations.  Every plot point fit well within the time and atmosphere of the story.  There was conflict and a resolution of sorts.   It was a good lie.

The thing is, good lies only work once.  Any confidence man will tell you once you’ve bled your mark, it’s time to get out of town.  Sure, you can run the same con again, you just have to be sure that your marks will never met.  Our liar didn’t take into account how small a town we all live in now.

I’m not sure what disgusts me more, the fact that this woman told such a cruel lie, or the fact she didn’t care enough to make up a new lie for each of her marks.   The very thought that she could let people come to her needing the truth more than anything, tell them she had it, and then decide which lie to use makes me ill.

How many stories did she have? 2? 3? 8?  Were there stories for men, women?  Did how they looked looked or the tone of their voice influence which story they would get?  Did she save special stories for ones she favored or especially disliked?

I’d like to ask the liar.

I’ve sought truth on the behalf of others.  I’ve been successful, and I’ve failed, but I’ve never lied.  I couldn’t betray a trust like that.

I just don’t understand.

Zen and the Art of Frying Pan Baseball

Transcendence, to change, to go beyond intended use, to function on a higher plane of reality, a thing experienced but not spoken of. A ten dollar word, and at least a million dollar philosophy. A concept that has meant many different things at many different times.

In one Hindu tradition transcendence is seen as obtaining a state beyond the material, where one is not bound to the cycles of rebirth. Mistakes are not repeated over and over again. It is in this context that I believe that an ordinary frying pan transcended it’s use yesterday in Utah.

Three teenage girls used the frying pan as means of escape from a maternity home. The use of violence was the only way they could see a way out of their situation. They had been sent to the home by parents who wished to hide them from their friends and community. It was the only way they could see their way out of the situation. The people who ran the home’s motives are unknown to me, but I’m sure they saw the home as the only solution for both the girls and the parents.

They are all blind.

There is clearly an elephant they cannot see.

The elephant is adoption. It seems that many truly cannot see it, and some that can refuse to acknowledge it’s presence.

It’s right there in front of you.