I once was told that truth is concrete, that it is stern and unbending, and must not care for my feelings. Then I was told, truth is relative. That is can and must bend and mold itself to me. And that if I believe it is truth, it shall, nay it must become the truth that I have boldly declared, no matter how brazen the lie it appears to one and all to be.

After all what does it matter if I say that something is green when it is blue, who really cares if to one and all I appear like a fool?

What if I may chose to call night day and day night, who have I harmed?

I can call my food sweet when it is bitter, but as long as I alone eat it, have I bothered anyone?

I may even call myself a giant, when I am but a tiny little pup, but if I never rush into battle, what damage have I done?

Why there are a hundred outlandish statements I can boldly state that will cause more than a roll of the eyes and a bit of irritation on the receiving side. Therefore it matters not if my version of truth runs a bit astray of truth’s once straight line.

So what if I get pulled over for speeding, and the cop says that I was going 50 in a 30 mile an hour zone, and I declare that my truth is that I was in a 50 mph zone. No one was hurt, and a saved ticket are not big deal, except to my tiny pocketbook.

There are even those who would look and laugh, at this small pup’s insistence in declaring that I am not a 20 pound pup, but a 7 foot tall, 280 pound muscular man. Chuckling that if a pup must have a delusion, he might as well chose one that is mighty and grand.

Now there might be a few whose smile might grow a bit thin if I add to that line, that I am king of the world, and they should bow the knee. But as long as my delusion does not touch their pocket book, they might make a quick excuse and rush away with a sigh of relief. Still confident that my delusional version of truth can cause no harm. And still believe that the world would be fine, if the mountain of truth would just fall and willingly tow the ever swerving line.

As irritating as it might be, if it did not touch their pocketbook, there many who would humor my belief that I am king of the world.

Certain that nothing bad could ever come from lifting up a light post made of sand. And that there never could be an instance where the firm adherence to truth should matter, because such dogmatic thinking can only cause harm, and such open minded wisdom must always be productive of the highest good.

But what if declared that if you wish it, it will, nay it must come true. And then said to you with a wide smile, let us climb the nearest mountain, and believe that we will sprout wings. That you might not see it, but because it is my truth that I can grow wings like a bird, we can jump from on high without fear knowing that the moment our feet left the safety of the ground, our invisible wings would unfurl allowing us to soar to heights never before known.

And then, at my insistence that because it is my truth, and truth is relative and there is no such thing as black and white truth, there is nothing to fear. For the very laws of nature, of thermodynamics, and all the laws known and unknown, must in that moment give way to my honest belief that I can sprout wings as long as I believe. Because you have said that all truth is relative and my truth is truth indeed as long as I believe no matter how ludicrous it might seem to the sleepy minds of those who hold to the outdated idea that truth cannot blink or bend. Why only a prejudice mind would think it foolishness for this stubborn schnauzer to think that he can grow invisible bird wings. When as long as I believe it, in the moment that I believe it, it becomes as real as stone.

And then without a blink or a sigh I pulled you to the edge of the mount and with confidence said that there was nothing to worry about. Just wait and see, because my version of the truth is even better than the real truth, all will be fine.

My question to you dear reader, is that if you believe that truth is relative, and my truth is really all that matters, would you like to be the one standing with me on that mountain being forced to make that leap of faith? In that moment, when I pulled you towards the edge and prepared to leap, would you still hold to the idea that truth is like a wind blown line etched in the sand, or suddenly declare that truth is a beacon made of unbreakable steal and iron?