The Alchemy of Honesty, Poems, Etc.

THE ALCHEMY OF HONESTY

I used to be the private sort,
I thought.
I didn’t ever tell the things
that pressed the most upon my mind.

I had judgements about the folks I knew,
but, I would never ever tell them;
for who was I to judge?!

Sometimes, I felt hurt or sad
at something someone did or said;
but, they had the right to do or say it,
or so I told myself;
and they would just feel bad
if I told them how I felt,
so I kept it in.

I used to be the lonely sort, and proud.
So sure was I
no one could understand me,
no one could really ever care;
and, even if they did,
the feelings that I felt
would be too much for them to bear;
and, then, the thing I feared the most
would come to pass;
I feared they’d turn away
and still more loneliness
would be the price I’d have to pay;
so I kept my feelings in.

I used to be so dignified
and calm.
I was especially careful
always to be quiet, reasonable
and right.

Anger was a thing beneath me.
To lose control,
to express my thoughts and feelings
right out loud?
Well, that would be unclassy!

Better to work it out alone;
do all my bitter blaming,
my complaining and forgiving
in the safety of my mind.
Then, my every word
could be carefully chosen,
softly spoken and perfectly timed,
so as not to make me seem
demanding, selfish, unclassy or unkind.

I used to think I was the honest sort.
I thought I never lied.
Well, at least the little fibs I told,
I told myself
were to protect the other guy.
His feelings might be hurt
if he knew the truth
of what I’d thought or said,
and so, I’d hold that back.
Oh, I was sure he’d really rather hear
the thing I’d say instead.

I used to be so capable.
There was absolutely nothing
I would admit I couldn’t do.
Of course, deep in my heart,
I knew it wasn’t true;
but the others that I knew,
surely they could succeed;
and far too proud was I
to let them see
that I had any special need.
I couldn’t risk their seeing
how inferior I knew myself to be.
How embarrassed and ashamed
to be discovered I would be.

No. I simply
couldn’t risk it.

Now,
I think I used only
to just barely be alive.
So afraid was I,
so afraid of being bad,
of being wrong,
of being found out,
of being misjudged and mistreated,
of being left out,
of being left
and of not being,
I nearly spent myself,
avoiding, controlling and seeming.

Today, it seems a wonder
that I so long survived that way.

I’ve learned another way of being now,
more satisfying than the old.
It’s a little scary, still,
and, yet,
it’s always worth the risk involved.

It has to do with
sharing who I am
and what I really feel,
right now.

I notice,
when I do this,
whatever I fear passes,
whatever I think gets clarified
and whatever I feel changes.

In honest sharing of myself,
especially of my judgements,
I see myself reflected.
In my perspective of the other,
a larger view of me I see,
and more of me to be accepted.

And, there’s more.
Most people stay.
They aren’t as fragile
as I thought.

In fact, often,
when I show my feelings,
it opens up a door,
and allows a deeper closeness
than we ever had before.

In this deeper closeness
I feel myself renewed.

To be seen,
in the moment,
just as I am,
in my naked truth,
and be accepted
feels intimately sublime.

And, to be trusted
to experience the other this way?
Well, that gift
feels just as sublime.

In fact, it feels so good,
it’s worth whatever price
that might be set.

And yet,
only one price
have I had to pay:

I’ve had to substitute my self
for that character I used to play.

Saskia Davis