Who are you... Truly?

Who are you when no one is looking?  Who are you under that skin of yours?

Oscar Wilde’s character, Dorian Gray, was a beautiful, but malleable, young aristocrat.  At the time his first and only portrait was being painted, Dorian’s vanity was appealed to by an unscrupulous mentor. It was suggested to Dorian that, due to his innocent good looks, no one would ever suspect him of anything but that which was righteous and pure. In the presence of an Egyptian relic, Dorian wished the new portrait to grow old, while he remain physically unchanged from that day forward. 

His wish involved so much more than the mere signs of aging. Dorian began to explore the dark side of his desires, with small unrighteous acts, callous disregard, a deception here, a lie there.  His initial exploration soon grew to indulging in the temporary pleasures of illicit sexual activity, substance abuse, and the most depraved materialism.  Along with this came extortion, cruelty, and mafia-like destruction of anyone who suspected his indiscretions.  Eventually… murder(s).  He sowed a garden of lust, greed, lies, madness, and hate – all things unrighteous. 

Dorian’s physical appearance and youthful vigor never altered.  As time passed, those around him aged naturally, their characters and life deeds etched on their bodies.  The first sins were almost imperceptible on the face of the portrait, noted only in a slight arrogance to the eyes, or a twist of cruelty in the lips.  Dorian soon moved the portrait from his public parlor to a corner of the attic where only he could view its deterioration.  Like a magnet, the portrait drew him to witness the true state of his soul.

Wretched with the weight of his choices, and the reality of the man he had become, Dorian decided to attempt a change.  One conscious good deed… Did the portrait change?  Why, yes, there… there it is… a slight lessoning of the horror.  Yes!  It was possible to change.  Dorian grew hopeful.

I wish the story had a sweet ending, one in which Dorian saw the portrait revert to its original state, and he lived the remainder of his days, aged appropriately, and with a pure heart.  However, it does not.  I will not ruin the ending for you, dear reader.  I will say, though, that there was redemption.

All of this was written with a purpose.  One can feel judged and condemned, or even held back by the fear of rejections of one’s externals, yet hold a soul so full of promise and hope… Unrealized potential. Contrariwise, one can take excessive amounts of pride in one’s outward appearance, and yet have a soul black as ink... Denial of one's true self.   How to help one realize it is the true heart and soul and mind that is the treasure, and the body is simply the shell that houses this amazing being?  How to encourage the former to see past their own perceived deficiencies, and emerge strong and beautiful, head held high?  To realize the man (or woman) beneath the skin…? Authentic!

Do you accept the person underneath? Or has the carefully constructed facade taken over?

My body is aging. The lines deepen, the skin thins, the hair grays… I am no youth, and have passed the boundaries of middle-age.  Does my own heart reflect to others? Or do they see only the older woman? It is none of my concern what they see, really…  I look in the mirror at the Allyson that stumbles and regains her footing, and I love her… fallible and flawed as she is.  She is me.  And for all her failings, she loves… and lives.

Do you, truly?