Fact or Fiction

 

Subject:Fact or fiction

Facts are not the work of fiction, or are they. How much of our factual life is and how much is embellishment, made necessary, if for no other reason than to come to terms with ones past. How clinical can we be when discussing our failures or our successes and how blind we become to the nitty gritty which forced us to behave or not behave. Do we understand the forces which bend and twist us each day, each minute of the day, the incontinence of fear and disillusionment, the lack of vision to see the effect we have on others and our hopeless ineptitude to do anything to curbed our nature to do so.
The fictional me, the one I put out for others to see, washed, shaved and polished  which makes me more acceptable, slinks around like a doppelgänger to the one which states it doesn't care what others think. Of course he cares, what would we be without others to care, what would a lifetimes existence alone on a desert island, free from the courtesy we exhibit the moment we step outside the front door. This fine balance between the fictional me and the factual one is given some leeway when we engage in writing. The words on the page can represent the real me or the fictional one and no one knows but me. This escape from the reality of being challenged to substantiate ones views, only having to project them onto a page and to see what happens, is cathartic. Are the views unique, well for a moment yes inso far they represent what I thought, I thought, a moment ago. Thoughts built on my own experience, themselves hidden behind platitudes and denial, deceiving to deceive, not intentionally but as a quirk of the mind which is forever refurbishing reality. 
Is life then fiction or fact, are the bits and bites which make up the physical you, the reality you. Where is that other you the emotions the hopes and fears. Does that not also represent you, the ethereal you, 
Perhaps Buddhism has the answers. although somewhat unpalatable from one aspect, its uniformity. In an effort to find a foundation, a rock on which to built the need, you unearth the substance of 'your substance' as a human being, both in relation to others, as well as yourself. This disbursement of the fictional you by laying bare the reality of who I am could be the final straw in the disbursement of the fictional you but are you strong enough to live without your illusionary friend.
Destroying the doppelgänger, who you have come to know and like, much more than the blemished character laying within and to revealing to all and sundry might forever damage relations with those around.  Better the devil they know than the one you do.
And don't worry, I wouldn't disclose if this piece is fiction or fact, whether it was written by me or my doppelgänger since you will never know.