Deceiver: (n) someone who leads you to believe something that is not true 

Sin is not as nasty when I do it.

It gains a certain reasonability that I fail to notice when it’s performed by others.

I am constantly confused because I feel compelled to mingle my intentions, my heart and my history in with my present batch of foolishness, to come up with a diluted conclusion, which is also quite deluded.

I knew her for eight years.

She was a beautiful human being.

For some reason, she decided to cast her lot with me. She believed in my music and she risked the disapproval of her friends and family, all in the pursuit of a dream.

And the dream was much more than dreamy.

There were actual points when the dream became a reality—but always with a cost:  a little piece of integrity and the necessity, at least in the moment, of becoming a deceiver, to maintain the probability.

She saw me lie.

No one ever really gets over that.

If I were able to lie to a stranger, I certainly could become more adept and learn to lie to her.

She saw me cheat.

She saw my verbosity cause me to become both a tyrant and a blow-hard.

There were many good times.

But mentioning the good times in the midst of recounting the actions of a deceiver is a rationalization—like trying to hold water in a paper bag.

I don’t know why she stayed for eight years.

She must have loved the hell out of me.

Unfortunately, enough hell remained that she was forced to depart.

Of course, she was no princess herself—or she would never have been able to stay with this deceiver.

I haven’t spoken to her in forty years.

It is a very good remedy for her soul.

Because even if she knew that I am now sorry to the point of vexation, it wouldn’t change the deception that tore at the fabric of our dream.

After all, when the deceiver finishes his day, he must return to his home, lay on his bed and wonder who deceived him.



Bellow: (v) to emit a deep loud roar, typically in pain or anger.

Dictionary B

I do not really want to hear what you have to say about how you hear what I have to say.

That’s the truth.

All my ways seem right to me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do them because then I would have to admit I was wrong. That also can be very painful.

But somewhere along this journey we call life, we have to realize that we are not alone and our opinions not only fail to be superior, but in many cases, are insignificant.

I may have a conversation with my children, my friends or my partners in business and feel that I have a completely rational tone, filled with reasonable proposals. Yet if I asked them what they are hearing, they will explain that they feel intimidated, criticized and even might perceive my approach to be “bellowing.”

In response to their accusations, I bellow, “I am not bellowing!”

I’m not so sure what ultimate maturity is supposed to look like. I’m not positive that I understand all aspects of human relationships, or even could write a decent pamphlet on the subject.

But I know this:

If another human being tells me that they hear me bellowing at them, attacking them or expressing displeasure in their direction, the only way to ever maintain that friendship is to listen to what they are proposing … and at least consider that the volume coming back my way is much less than what they’re hearing.


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