You can change the world, or at least your experience of it, by becoming conscious of the words coming out of your mouth.

By Sally Kempton  

These questions are considered the three gates of speech; versions of them can be found in many contemporary Buddhist and Hindu teachings. Remembering to ask them will at least give you pause, and that pause can be enough to hold back torrents of trouble.

One thing I like about these questions is that they open up a big space for contemplation. For example, does "true" mean only what is literally true? You know you're lying (hopefully!) when you willfully distort or deny facts. But what about slight exaggerations? If you leave out part of the story, is it still true? And where does opinion fit in? What is the "truth" about your friend's boyfriend, whom she sees as smart and interesting and you see as pretentious and arrogant? In sorting out truth from partial truth, lies or distortions, how do you account for personal perspective, which can alter our view of objective events to the point where two people can see one scene in radically different ways?

Over time, you'll want to sort all this out for yourself. But in the short term, asking yourself "Is this true?" is a good way to become aware of certain dicey verbal tendencies-the slight exaggerations, unsupported assertions, and self-justifications that burble out of your mouth. Personally, I give myself a pass on storytelling. But when I catch myself saying in a tone of authority, "Patanjali never would have said that!"I've learned to ask myself, "Do I know that for sure?" Often, I'm forced to admit that I don't.

It may seem obvious that some remarks are kind and some are not. But what happens when kindness seems at odds with the truth? Are there certain truths that should not be spoken-even kindly-because they are simply too crushing? Or is it a form of cowardice to suppress a truth that you know will cause pain? What if your words could destroy a friendship, unmake a marriage, or ruin a life-do you speak them?

"I've had words literally stick in my throat," a friend once told me, explaining why he had come to the conclusion that, when he's confronted with the conflict between kindness and truth, the best choice is simply to remain silent. But sometimes we must speak out even when we dread the consequences. It's obviously necessary-if we want to prevent wrongdoing-for an employee to let the boss know that the accountant is fudging the books, even if the accountant is a close friend. It's necessary at some point for a doctor to tell a terminally ill patient that she's likely to die soon. It's necessary to let your lover know that you're unhappy with him before your unhappiness gets to the point where you're ready to pack your bags. But is it necessary to tell your friend that you saw his girlfriend with another guy? Or to join in the daily office discussions of the latest management screw-ups?

I like to use these questions not as mechanisms for censorship but as reminders, as invitations to speak from the highest level of consciousness I'm capable of at any given moment. We all carry inside us multiple impulses, and we are all capable of operating from many layers of ourselves-from shadowy parts as well as from noble intentions and feelings.

But the magic of words is that they can, in and of themselves, transform our consciousness. Words and thoughts that vibrate at a higher level of resonance can change our inner state as well, and they certainly have an effect on the environment around us.