Truth

Sometimes, when no one is looking, extraordinary things happen. Love is born amidst a crowd of hurrying and bustling people. Beauty that could conquer nations passes over the eyes of those not seeing. Nobody sees these things though, because nobody knows where to look. My grandmother would tell me this every time I visited her, and every time I would ask her if she had ever seen the extraordinary things. Her reply would always be, “I never looked.”

In contrast to the extraordinary things, my life seems so ordinary. Imagine a fairy tale, but take all the interesting parts, the love story, the adventure, the magic, even the sorrow, and throw them away. What you are left with is my life, uninteresting and plain. Sometimes when I am tired of hoping for a love story or adventure, I degrade myself to hoping for something far less good and exciting. I start hoping for sorrow, for at least it would bring some interest to my life. Sorrow, that lonely friend that comes in the night, not to comfort or encourage, but to bring suffering and longing, a yearning for something more, has sometimes found me, but never for long. It has never come for long. At the best of times though, I search for truth.

There have been times when I am absolutely sure that there is a point to my searching, an end to my quest. But other times, I fall bleakly short of my end of the deal and plummet into disbelief. The answer is out there waiting. It will not stop its job. There is an answer to everything, absolute truths that the world and all its inhabitants adhere to, whether they know it or not. All that they do is be true and wait for those that seek them to find them so they may give them their truth. They will always wait, but I have, at times, stopped looking for them. This is not a fault on the part of the truth, but it falls on my behalf, because truth never changes.

Quite some time ago, I had stopped trusting in humans. Their lies surround them, envelope them, transform them, and define them. Most are so deluded that they cannot see past the scales covering their eyes. Most don’t even try.

Walking in the woods near my house, I looked upon the distant mountain, and I wondered how far away it was. It had three peaks, each the same height as each other in a parapet style spacing between each other, reminding me of an ancient castle, both majestic and malignant. Its white, snow-capped peaks were perfectly contrasted by the faded purple color directly beneath it.

As my eyes descended the mountain, I admired the wonderful paint job that was done on the mountain. It definitely was not made using MS Paint. The colors blended perfectly, reds and yellows and oranges, all completing this wonderful masterpiece. I wondered to myself how far away it was. Suddenly, I had a very strange desire to go towards it, to climb it, to be with the mountain and just stay there in its beauty.

Following my instincts, I started through the forest, heading towards the mountain, a glorious symbol of the end of my quest, my adventure. Was this really my adventure? Was something interesting finally happening to me? No one else will think that hiking to a mountain is interesting at all. But for now, I have a task, and this one I will stick with.

Hiking for hours upon end, my body started to fatigue, even though my mind was still pushing me onward. I started to realize that the mountain was much farther away than I had at first perceived. Unfortunately, it seemed as though I had made no progress, the mountain still sitting in its place, and I, wishing I was there, seemed to be stuck in one place, away from the mountain. Coming to my senses, I realized that I should head back, seeing that it was already dusk and I wouldn’t make it back till late at night. A brief fit of anger took hold of me as I realized how stupid I had been, but then something caught my eye.

A small house, hidden by trees and vines, cornered in an obscure part of the forest. At first I wondered why there was a house in the middle of a forest, away from civilization or any form of human contact. Reason told me that it was an old abandoned house, used centuries ago by settlers, left deserted and alone. I inched forward, slowed by the eeriness of the moment, yet pushed on by curiosity. As I drew closer, I began to see more distinct features of the house. The door was a solid piece of wood carved from a large tree, obviously handcrafted, but it looked very sturdy. Two windows, in symmetry to each other, separated in equal distances by the door in the center, added a quiet softness to the house, almost as if it had a face. It was a small cottage, overgrown by vines.

Yet there was something more to this house. At first, it seemed as if the house carried an air of tranquility about it, and indeed it did. But it was something much more than that. It wasn’t the scenery or the presence of this strange house, or even the bygone era that it seemed to represent. Something much deeper emanated from within the tranquil scene. It was a strong feeling, an overwhelming power that threatened to take my whole being, and yet I wanted it to. I had never felt this feeling before and now I wanted to delve into it and stay there forever. Every muscle in my body relaxed and I felt a quiet strength, added from somewhere that was not my own. A cool breeze brushed my face, awakening me, and I realize that I could go inside this mysterious house.

As I walked to the door and reached for the handle, a thought occurred to me. What if this house was evil? I pulled my hand back in a jerky manner and began to think. Maybe there were dark forces at work, weaving extraordinarily strong lies of goodness and peace. Lies of goodness and peace? Peace! There it is! I had finally pinpointed what the feeling was. It was peace, a truth I had never hoped of obtaining before, but here it was, offering itself to me freely. This house couldn’t be evil. No dark power could ever produce something so perfect and complete. After finishing this conflict in my head, I slowly reached for the handle.

The door opened easily, not even a creak emanated from its ancient hinges. My eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for the source of peace that I assumed emanated from within. Nothing caught my attention, so I began to look around again, this time studying it. There was only one room in the entire house. No bedroom, cellar, or kitchen separated the interior or added to its volume. There were very few items found in the house. There was a rectangle on the floor in a corner that was slightly discolored, giving the impression that a cot once made its home there. A small bookcase was pressed up against one of the walls, lined with books I had never heard of. To the left of the bookcase was a desk. It was waist high, and whatever chair used to accompany it had been removed long ago, for there was no such seat in the house at the present. I wondered to myself what kind of person would live in a place like this, and then it caught my eye.

A book, lying face down on the table, no markings upon the back or the binding to set itself apart from any other book, called to me, demanded my interest. Slowly and in a relaxed manner, I walked towards the book. Curiosity had taken a hold on me, but something stronger gave me the feeling that I had time and there was need to hurry. It almost seemed as if this moment was planned.

Picking up the book cautiously, I was surprised that nothing happened as I touched it. No stab of pain shot up my arm. No magic powers were imbedded into me through the mysterious book. Nothing happened at all. Disappointment and relief simultaneously converged upon me, but both were laid aside as I looked at the title of the book.

The Truth.

That was the title of the book. The Truth? Could it be that an insignificant-looking book, in a small abandoned house, in the middle of a forest, really contained The Truth? I opened the book furiously and started reading as fast as I could. I read for hours and hours. The book only looked as if it was a hundred pages long, but I know I read many more than that. All the truths that I had ever wondered about: what gives life meaning, what happens after you die, why people are shrouded in lies, and why my life is the way it is. There were complete explanations about every physical law that governed the universe. I only understood a few, but what I did understand gave new revelation to that which I already knew. I read and read for what seemed like days, ending my truth marathon when I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

I woke up the next day excited and filled with purpose. I ran out of the house and went to tell everyone I could about the book and all that it contained. It was a couple hours before I reached the edge of the forest, and when I started telling people about the book, most did not believe me. I yelled and screamed at them that they just had to follow me and they would find the truth, but only a few followed me. After gathering a group of six or seven, we started back to the forest. I led them to the place where I had found the house beforehand, but it was not there. Shock filled me and doubt flooded my mind. Had I really read the book? Of course I did. I know I did. My group, reasoning that I must be crazy, started to leave the way they came. I just watched as they left, both saddened that they did not believe me and that they did not find The Truth. As the last person went out of view, I turned around again. There stood the house as it had before, emitting its ever resonant glow of peace. I yelled for the group of people to come back, but they were already too far away. I grumpily walked into the house and picked up the book, excited to read more, but disappointed that it seemed as if I was the only one that could see this place. Opening the book, I read the only line on the first page.

“Seek and you shall find.”