“If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, an absolved you from the guilt ,you would not be without friends.” – Charlotte Bronte
But what if it were vice versa? What if your own conscience was pitched against you, asphyxiating each of those occasional smiles which dared to come spread on your lips, and crushed those petals much before they bloomed? What if your own heart recognised you as the singular sinner, as the person behind every vice, and as the sole tormentor of the your own soul?
Would you still pray for forgiveness, and to whom? Would you allow yourself to sink low enough to allow yourself to hope for forgiveness? And what if you reach some reconciliation with the victims of your half-empty words of caress and they forgive you, how would you wear the kindness of those good souls upon your heart?
Mark Twain’s prescribed antidote of a sleepy conscience for a happy life is perhaps the only plausible solution to live on without the daggers of guilt drawing blood out of what remains of a human heart in you .
You try hard to replace your tossing and turning conscience with its clay replica which was moulded by your own sinful hands smelling of flowers, in a cast of your preference. You paint yourself white. For some time, you find yourself greatly repaired by these tremendous efforts which you have put in for the purpose of be-fooling yourself. You are almost happy with this new idea of you.
But the overcast sky of reality pours down heavily on you some day while you were basking in the sun, and the shiny paint is thoroughly washed out. You once again find yourself staring back at your naked hideous soul with condescension. You stand in the muddle and stare with shame at the disintegrating clay imitation. You rained upon yourself, you couldn’t keep it in. Yes, you lose. Yes, you are lost. A sleepy conscience is a distant dream, an elusive asset which you never can own.
No, but you shall not accept defeat at your own hands .You will look for an escape which diminishes the guilt. You will prove yourself righteous now. You have lived with yourself all your life, you know the tricks. You have done it many a times. You are long done with being the slave in handcuffs. You will be the authoritarian now. You won’t even plead innocent. You will lie your way out of your over conscious head and heart.
Now you happily denounce your own theories of right and wrong. Now you turn your heart inside out. Now you are a fresh flower again. Though you have lost your sweet essence, but you still look beautiful. You are a pure, noble soul in your own eyes .
Appearances count. You snatched back some parts of your soul from the cruel hands of guilt. You have escaped. You congratulate yourself but do not acknowledge it openly. Veils are after all, your way of life.