The Mirror That Looks Back I stood before the mirror, its frame carved by the hands of time. Not a reflection, but a revelation- the silvered surface reached inside me, turning my skin into words, my breath into whispers of the infinite. "Who are you?" I asked. The mirror quivered, laughing like a trickster. "Who are you?" it echoed, its voice both mine and not mine, both earthbound and eternal. Within its depths, I saw no face- only rivers of light, weaving the tapestry of my being. Each thread a prayer, each knot a question God left unanswered. I cried, "Are you God, or the deceiver? Are you truth, or the shadow of my longing?" The mirror's laughter softened. "Both," it said, "and neither. For I am the mask that reveals the soul, the silence where your secrets sing." I reached for the glass, but it turned to water under my fingers, rippling with the memory of all I had been and all I had forgotten to be. In its depths, I saw a child laughing, an old man weeping, and the stars threading a needle of fire through the fabric of eternity. "Do you see now?" it asked. And I did. I saw God’s hand and the trickster’s grin woven together like lovers. I saw myself as both the seeker and the sought, the question and the answer, the mirror and the one who looks. "To look at me," the mirror whispered, "is to look at yourself. To know me is to know that you are not the shape of your skin, but the dance of light upon the water." And so I stood, trembling, not before a reflection, but within it.
Interested in reading more about remote viewing? Check out the related GitHub repository for this video: github.com/15-minute-discourse/remote-viewing
The Mirror That Looks Back
I stood before the mirror,
its frame carved by the hands of time.
Not a reflection, but a revelation-
the silvered surface reached inside me,
turning my skin into words,
my breath into whispers of the infinite.
"Who are you?" I asked.
The mirror quivered, laughing like a trickster.
"Who are you?" it echoed,
its voice both mine and not mine,
both earthbound and eternal.
Within its depths, I saw no face-
only rivers of light,
weaving the tapestry of my being.
Each thread a prayer,
each knot a question God left unanswered.
I cried, "Are you God, or the deceiver?
Are you truth, or the shadow of my longing?"
The mirror's laughter softened.
"Both," it said, "and neither.
For I am the mask that reveals the soul,
the silence where your secrets sing."
I reached for the glass,
but it turned to water under my fingers,
rippling with the memory of all I had been
and all I had forgotten to be.
In its depths, I saw a child laughing,
an old man weeping,
and the stars threading a needle of fire
through the fabric of eternity.
"Do you see now?" it asked.
And I did.
I saw God’s hand and the trickster’s grin
woven together like lovers.
I saw myself as both the seeker and the sought,
the question and the answer,
the mirror and the one who looks.
"To look at me," the mirror whispered,
"is to look at yourself.
To know me is to know
that you are not the shape of your skin,
but the dance of light upon the water."
And so I stood, trembling,
not before a reflection,
but within it.