Veronica's Veil

I received an email from an old friend last night, who had accidentally discovered my blog and decided to say hello. A philosopher and physician, he discovered later in life that medicine had no answers for him. Philosophy did not either, but at least helped him ask questions.

“I see you are also touching that veil many of us eventually do” he wrote “have you lived your life full enough to decide to lift that veil sometime soon?”

So, I left all other daily chores aside, made a tall cup of coffee and put my laptop on my lap.

“Some veils separate our questions from new questions” I replied, “or perhaps questions from answers. Other veils are said to heal; and some veils are so opaque that it is the fear of lifting them that stops our desire for discovery.”

The veil of Maya, the veil of ignorance, the veil of Veronica, and the veil of tears….

“Do you know the origin of the name Veronica?” he asked.

“It is a linguistic portmanteau” I tried to impress him. “Latin Vera for true and Greek Eikon for image. It is the True Image and that is why it is believed to heal.”

He replied by first sending happy faces, and then followed with his answer in a separate email.

“Ha! No, no, no portmanteau – leave that fancy lexicon to your academic colleagues. Veronica is derived from Greek only. It is a combination of Pherein and Nike, and in the case of a female it means “the woman who brings victory”. Now you know why Nike adopted that word for a sports product line.  No one seeks defeat, and Veronica is the anti-thesis of our daily struggles. She is victory over pain, fear, broken hearts and words we did not say in a train station. There is no healing, just the good feeling of doing it. Just like Nike said!”

Then he added:

“Veils do not heal, nor do they let you see through. The veils that haunt us at the end of our lives are different from the bridal veil – you will not kiss or make love after you lift those veils. Instead, these are the veils that make us wonder if we have lived our days in full, with respect, and often in excess. For it is when we face those veils that we wonder about our past and not as much about our future. Veils are our reality checks.”

My coffee was cold by the end of our email retrouvailles. He and I are at the same crossroads, but we seem to have a different attitude to crossing it: he is checking left and right, while I am delighted to be at the intersection of these roads.

… I took a sip and wondered who will cross first and let the other know what is beyond the veil…

September 2, 2014
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2014