We’re strange creatures.
We walk through the world collecting impressions, and then we freeze them in language as if they were specimens. A moment becomes a sentence. A feeling becomes a fact. A passing shadow becomes a story we swear is true.
And because we can do this, we can also do the opposite.
We can write things into existence that never were.
I can say, “God lies,” and the sentence sits there, perfectly formed, perfectly false.
I can say, “This is hopeless,” and suddenly the air gets heavier. Yet hopelessness is rarely a fact. More often it is a conclusion. The future has not arrived, but we pronounce judgment on it anyway.
Much of what troubles us is not reality itself, but the stories we construct around reality. We imagine outcomes. We assume motives. We predict disasters. Then we react to those inventions with the seriousness of soldiers responding to alarms.
Discernment shouldn’t be this hard, but here we are.
So what do we do?
We build our own list. A small compass. A way to keep from creating worlds that don’t deserve to exist.
- Every challenge hides a seed of hope.
- Is it true, or is it just my opinion wearing a costume?
- What evidence is actually in front of me?
- Is this knowable, or am I borrowing someone else’s certainty?
- Choose truth over ego.
- Practice noticing when you’re open and when you’re closed.
- Hold a positive posture; the world already produces enough entropy.
- Even the immoral can choose good.
- Don’t wait for perfection.
- It’s not about me.
- Learn to yield.
The list itself is not the point.
The point is to remember that words are tools, not masters. They can reveal reality, but they can also conceal it. They can clarify, distort, encourage, deceive, heal, or divide.
Before adding another sentence to the world, it may be worth asking:
Am I describing reality?
Or am I creating it?
About johndiestler
Retired community college professor of graphic design, multimedia and photography, and chair of the fine arts and media department.
A Work Progressing 
We Can Create Falsely — 2026 Version
We’re strange creatures.
We walk through the world collecting impressions, and then we freeze them in language as if they were specimens. A moment becomes a sentence. A feeling becomes a fact. A passing shadow becomes a story we swear is true.
And because we can do this, we can also do the opposite.
We can write things into existence that never were.
I can say, “God lies,” and the sentence sits there, perfectly formed, perfectly false.
I can say, “This is hopeless,” and suddenly the air gets heavier. Yet hopelessness is rarely a fact. More often it is a conclusion. The future has not arrived, but we pronounce judgment on it anyway.
Much of what troubles us is not reality itself, but the stories we construct around reality. We imagine outcomes. We assume motives. We predict disasters. Then we react to those inventions with the seriousness of soldiers responding to alarms.
Discernment shouldn’t be this hard, but here we are.
So what do we do?
We build our own list. A small compass. A way to keep from creating worlds that don’t deserve to exist.
The list itself is not the point.
The point is to remember that words are tools, not masters. They can reveal reality, but they can also conceal it. They can clarify, distort, encourage, deceive, heal, or divide.
Before adding another sentence to the world, it may be worth asking:
Am I describing reality?
Or am I creating it?
Share this:
About johndiestler
Retired community college professor of graphic design, multimedia and photography, and chair of the fine arts and media department.