A Reflection of "Dealing With The Adversary" ~ An adaption of Charles C. Finn's "Dont Be Fooled By Me"

Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the mask I wear. For I wear a thousand masks, masks that I am afraid to take off, and none of them are me. Pretending is an art that's second nature with me, but don't be fooled. I give the impression that I'm secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within me as well as without. But don't believe me...

My surface may seem smooth, but my surface is my mask. Beneath this lies no complacence. Beneath dwells the real me in confusion, in fear and in loneliness. But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.

I panic at the thought of my weakness and fear of being exposed.
Thats why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant sophisticated facade, to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows. But such a glance is precisely my salvation, and I know it. That is, if its followed by love. It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself. That I am worth something. But I won't tell you this. I don't dare. I'm afraid to.

I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance and love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh at me and your laugh would kill me. I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing, that I'm no good, so I play my game, my desperate game with a facade of assurance without, and a trembling child within.

And so begins the parade of masks. And my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in suave tones of surface talk. I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing that is really everything, of whats crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine do not be fooled by what I am saying.
Please listen very carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying, what I'd like to be able to say, what, for survival I NEED to say but what I CAN'T say.

I dislike hiding, honestly...I dislike the superficial game [ I sometimes have to play], the phony game. I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous and me...and [every once in a while I can, but it is not very often and sometimes this grieves me]... [ Sometimes I wish you would] hold out your hand, even when its the last thing I seem to want.

[Sometimes I think ] you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare and [spirit of indifference].[Sometimes I think] you can call me into aliveness. Each time you're kind and gentle, and encouraging... each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings. Very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings. [Imagine my pain each time those wings are clipped...]

[Sometimes I think] with your sensitivity, sympathy, and your power of understanding, you can breathe life into me. [ Imagine my dissapointment when I am met with malice, contempt, and a "jocking of my style" or "theft of my idea" or I see you doing to me what others have done to you...yet I understand you don't even see it and I hold that disappointment inside]

I want you to know how important you are to me, how sometimes you [have taken part in the creation] of a person that is me... [Sometimes] you alone [have broken] down the wall behind which I tremble. [Sometimes you have released] me from my shadow world of panic and uncertainty, from my lonely person. [ and sometimes you have sent me back.]

[I realize it has not been easy] A long conviction of worthlessness builds strongs walls...[ as does stolen ideas, being belittled, and being emtionally strongarmed...] The nearer you approach me, the blinder I strike back. I fight against the very thing I cry out for, but I am told that love is stronger than walls and in this lies my hope. [ Walls that need to be] beat down with firm but gentle hands - for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I you may wonder. I am someone you know very well, for I am every man and every woman you meet. [ Take care not to fool or kid yourself] With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.