Dying in the Prison of Your Secret

There is a general illusion that we know whom we relate with. Spouses boast of knowing their partners. Friends proudly talk about how much they know their friends. The general notion seems to be

“I know him more than you think.”

The producers of the film Titanic, through their heroine, Rose, said “The heart of a woman is a deep ocean of secrets.” If I were to paraphrase the statement, I would say “The heart of human is a deep ocean of secrets.”

 

As we bask daily on the illusion that we know whom we relate with, we take for granted the fact that parents do not know all about their wards; spouses, no matter the depth of love between them, do not really know much about their spouses. Siblings as well have their well preserved mines of secrets they keep from one another. In fact we hardly know our fellow men beyond their face value. Everyone nurtures a well hid crypt of amazing secrets.

Often, we hear spouses say to their partners in utmost surprise, “So, all these years I’ve been living with a total stranger!” Such interjections come when they have stumbled into a particular piece of their partners’ well kept secrets. This reveals the fact that no matter how long you have known somebody, no matter the level of intimacy you share, you may not know about the part of his life, which he has chosen to conceal from you.

The odd side of the matter is that more often than not, these well kept secrets do more harm to the keepers than they do to those whom the keepers struggle all their life time to conceal the secrets from. There is a saying that “It is what you know that can hurt you.” Hence people have incarcerated themselves in maximum security prisons of their well kept secrets.

There is a kind of deliverance, or freedom, if you like, that comes when one boldly declares and owns up on his secret, no matter how ugly it has been. However, majority lack the courage to do so. They face a dilemma of either exposing their secrets to get freed or keeping it while exhibiting a make-believe that all is well. The irony they seem to forget is that conscience is an open wound; only the truth can heal it. They also have forgotten that there are two whom none can deceive: God and own conscience. Conscience is the most efficient warder; it keeps the prison with a single inmate: its owner.

Many have died, while luckier ones are nursing hypertension or chronic depression caused by angst of a nagging conscience. The scenes of crimes of yesteryears, and the screams of victims killed in secret decades away, cannot be erased. They remain visuals consistently replayed on the screen of the mind. Lies told and betrayals meted on friends assume anthropomorphic forms, pointing accusing fingers at those who, without qualms, have stained their consciences. Thus the Holy Book says “There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked.

There is no wisdom, whatever, in remaining jailed in the prison of own secrets. There is honour in taking the bull by the horns to expose ugly pasts. There is healing in self-forgiveness, which comes when we take the step to disgrace our secrets.

If afraid of scandal, the courage to brave the odds becomes elusive. The best way to condition the mind to own up the truth is to tell self that scandal will come, whether we do good or bad. In any case, it is nobler to tell the truth and own up to an ugly past. If a few ignoble minds choose to create scandal out of that noble gesture, take consolation in the fact that a fire built, no matter how wild it is, shall burn out sooner or later. And when the flames are out, honour shall sprout from the cold ashes of the scandal of yesterday.

Do not die in silence friend. Break out of the prison of your own secret today.