Delusional Landscapes

"Better a cruel truth than comfortable delusion."

Edward Abbey

On this frigid winter day with the sun playing hide and seek, I revisit writings from my past.  The fire place warms me and I get lost staring into the flames, drawn back into times of old.  With hindsight, the absence of truth becomes as obvious as the blanket of white snow just outside my window.  Like an innocent kitten, I had eagerly lapped up what was placed before me, falsely assuming the substance was pure as the falling snow.  The false bravado lulled me into a slumber, unaware of the hidden scars that would eventually surface into sequences of nightmares. 

I fault myself for being willing to accept words as truth.  My trust is not easily won, but shared confidences are generally accepted as truth.  It would not occur to me at the beginning that an artist was hard at work, painting a landscape that could only be a delusion.  With each brush stroke, a layer of lies were generously applied. I kept waiting for the paint to dry.

At what point did harsh truth interrupt delusion?  How long did I minimize and dig deeper into avoidance and denial? The irony is I could have handled the truth early on, but not now.  Not after years of muting so many colors that the delicate hues have turned to garish mud. I work my way through pages describing the process of scraping paint to once again have a blank slate.  I am then inspired to pick up my own brush, to choose my own paints, and to become the creator of my own landscape.