Lying comes natural to a culture believing truth can be told. The dishonesty lies in that leap of faith required by the myth, so ubiquitous it’s invisible, that somewhere there are right answers in the back of some book of life with the indisputable authority to declare all other versions wrong. How tedious; half the folks looking to be told what’s right, the other half claiming it’s their way or the highway. The third half are aware of this tautology, stepped out of it and are, therefore, unable to be lied to. Nor do they rely on being told the truth, knowing variations on the theme of a truth so vast it cannot be spoken enrich the beautiful complexity of what we can only live to behold a smidgen of.
Sure, we can get the names right for things and actions we’ve learned for the stuff and nonsense we’ve invented and what they make us do. All that is written down somewhere in dictionaries and patent offices, psychiatry and pharmaceutical labs, bibles and constitutions. While honest folk endeavor to get those names in the best order to accurately describe past events, present feelings and future intentions, it is just as easy to rearrange those names for different, undisclosed intentions for ears waiting to hear some version of, “…so help me God, (with your authority to make the gullible believe anything, oh mighty writer of the Book).” Courts are busy making judgments on the suspension of disbelief among believers by one person’s version of events being more persuasive than the other, neither of which even need be about the truth.
Considering the variation in reality tunnels among humans as important to the survival of our species as the diversity of species is to sustaining the healthy life of the planet, makes it easy to hear such various reports as purely informational data points balanced against one’s own experience in an evolving probability theory about life in the universe of an open mind.
There are no liars if one’s not looking to believe, there are just different versions of what people think is going on, none of whom I need to believe nor expect or want to believe me. If our realities resonate, great; if not, grater. One thing common among my friends; the only lies we call on each other are the hoods we’ve winked on ourselves. It’s what friends are for.
Addendum: I'm chagrinned by my omission of a primary inspiration for this post and the coiner of one of my favorite terms, "reality tunnels", Robert Anton Wilson, … yeah you, you old rabble rouser — who got around our tendency to seem to be or to actually be liars when claiming exclusive truth, by finishing every sentence with, "…maybe". Beautiful. Maybe.