It’s kind of neat if you think about it, and kind of sad, too. As people, we struggle through life trying to find The Truth, yet we often trip over it and fail to acknowledge it and keep going. It is similar to Sir Pellinore and the Questing Beast in the Arthurian legend. This knight, brave and resourceful, searched constantly for this mythical beast, always looking forward, never realizing that it followed him every step of the way. Maybe this is an allegory concerning unfulfilled destinies. If so, then how does that apply to truth, or The Truth?

Simplifying it to its most basic components, The Truth is what we make of it. It is not something outside of us, but something for which we must search inside ourselves in order to find. When I say “search inside ourselves,” I don’t mean anything as simple as exploratory surgery. No, this search is one done through thought, meditation if you prefer that word, on what we think we are. The sad part to this relationship, however, is that, unless we never change, which, in and of itself, is dangerous to our well-being, that Truth will change as we change, grow as we grow, mature as we mature. We can never look inside of ourselves and see the same Truth twice.

But little "t" truth is easy to locate. It is feelings, emotions, in essence, love and hate and the variations multitudinous thereof. It is what we see, what we hear, what we taste, smell, and touch. It is this four- dimensional reality we call "home." The truth can be found out by asking a very simple question: Is this real? If the answer is yes, then it is truth. If, on the other hand, the answer is no, then problems begin.

The first problem is one of acclimation to this new truth, or, if you are a negativist, to this newly exposed lie. We must learn or discover why this lie remained so prevalent that we didn’t notice it as a lie, or why we chose to ignore it. Once this is done, all the other mistruths surrounding that lie begin to tumble and fall, rather like the walls of Jericho at the sound of the trumpets. They fall in the white glory of truth, or The Truth, if that is what you have found.

I am scared of this capital "T" Truth, though. I am scared of discovering exactly what it is that I am. Granted, I am not this body. This body is just a vehicle by which I get from here to there. But is my mind an indispensable part of what I am? I think it is. But if it is exposed to The Truth, will my mind dissolve and become nonentity exactly like all other minds that have been exposed to The Truth? If so, I’m not absolutely certain I want to meet this Truth. I would prefer, I think, to die and rejoin my other self, that better part of me that cannot be a part of Howard Scott, that ponders and receives answers and questions and receives artwork in response. I like that part of me better, maybe because it doesn’t have to go through the things Howard Scott has to. It can sit back and watch while I go through everything for it. I don’t think that is so bad, but my mother would probably say that it is a very irresponsible attitude to take (I’ve had a lot of irresponsible attitudes in my lifetime.). Well, so what? Big deal. There is nothing wrong, I don’t think, with being irresponsible, as long as we don’t force that irresponsibility, or any others of our various traits, onto others. That would be unfair and unjust, and just might get us into serious problems. What those problems might be, I can only guess, but the ends never justify the means- never.

Speaking of the ends and the means, I start some more teacher observations tomorrow at my old high school. I’ll be observing my favorite English teacher, Mrs. Hinesley, and one of my best teacher-friends, Mrs. Herring. The means, though, are that school starts for students at 7:45 A.M. For teachers, that time is 7:15. What a bitch! Of course, the ends are that school ends at 2:10 P.M. for students and an hour or so later for teachers. Neat, right? I liked the old system of 8:30 to 2:45 personally, but, hey! I don’t work here and don’t go to school here anymore, so, hey! They can start and end any time. I’m just an observer there.

I’m probably just as much an observer here in life as well, though, and that is bad. In Biloxi Blues, a quaint little play written by Neil Simon about his boot camp days in Biloxi, Mississippi, one of the characters says to another, in paraphrase, "Until you take a stand in your fight, Eugene, you’ll never be a writer." Well, I think I’ve taken my stand, or stands, in these writings. But is that enough? Have I done anything productive with them? Some people would say no, but I have a feeling that these proverbs, once published (and they are going to be published, even if I have to do it myself), will create for themselves a soapbox on which to stand and continue my points and arguments. I just hope I am around to watch it happen, as opposed to, say, Jonathan Swift who is, sadly, now dead and buried. But all will work out in the end. I am very confident of that. And if it doesn’t, you ask? Well, I’ve had it pretty good till now, and I don’t see any major changes on the road ahead, so, there you have it.

Au reservoir. (I barely passed French. Besides, I hate that language, as well as the people, at least those in Paris.)

So, until next time, this is Howard Scott to the rest of you madmen in the world saying "good night."

Howard Scott
27 November 1988