How many of us have spent this life in some form of hiding? Hiding in plain sight, wearing the masks we learned to or were taught to wear... hiding. From others? From ourselves? I'm not sure those facts matter. Truth matters.
How is hiding a form of truth? Is it? Can it be? Why did I feel the need to hide? Well, there is a whole deluge of 'answer' to that one! Danger, Will Robinson!!!!! I remember the Robot flailing its mechanical arms in distress. It might make me laugh, but the scene feels real when we're in it.
How does the choice not to hide look and feel? Scary at first, perhaps. Sometimes the choice is obvious, sometimes less so.
I remember the choices along the way in favor of hiding. I have fewer memories of the choices to be open and honest and free. Why? Maybe because those choices are truth and truth has no need to be anything but itself.
I don't remember pulling the lever switched me firmly onto the track of no hiding. I do remember the intent.
It is a little like the 'place of no pity' as described in some wisdom traditions. There is no going back. Back to what or to whom? Those locations no longer exist. Thank goodness!
Truth always finds its way into the open. I'd rather have that as my ally than anything else, anyway.