Masking The Truth

This is not the first post that Viaggiatore and I have published on masques... but it is a different masque, this time.

Oscar Wilde said, "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth."

Why do we hide behind our masks? Why do we only feel the confidence to bare our souls to the universe when our faces our hidden?

Truth is no stranger, but why would we keep it… hidden away, secret… unable to face the truth without a mask?

A child's plaything? Oh no… this game is for the grownups. Children are openly honest and truthful; sometimes painfully so, but not the adults. Not the ones who believe that they must hide themselves from the world, and only come out to play when the lighting is right, and the curtain is up and the mask is on: then we can be anything we dare to be, without concern or recompense.

A mask to hide behind to tell the truth… to say this is who is inside me, what I believe, what I want, what I think, how I feel. But look neither upon my face, nor into my eyes… for therein lies my mortal soul, and it would whither should you see it bared before you.
Oh but it wouldn't… really. Fear binds us tighter than any other lie. Fear suffocates us into silence, tethers our feet to the ground so that we cannot fly into the heavens that call us, and over time it dissolves our cores like a rotting disease.

Fear is the impetus behind the need for the mask.
And for what purpose? What need? There is none.
Why would we ever hold tight to a disease that destroys us?

If we are without a mask to hide behind, then what is lost, and what is gained?

What strength could be found by defeating that façade… what honesty, truth, love and beauty could be given fully when there is no masquerade? No pretense. Would we discover that we are much closer to becoming the person that we long to be, if we did not hide our true selves away from the world?

Oh yes. Yes, indeed.