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?
