The Mirage Of A Mirror

Mirrors have been such an intriguing creation by humankind.

• It empowers you when you lift up your clothes to feed yourself the beauty of your own body. It discourages you when you closely look at the acne that has cropped up unexpectedly on your face.

• It makes you smirk when you watch your taut nerves peeking out of your muscular built. It catches you as you notice the first few strands of gray hair in the sideburns.

Mirrors deceive us into thinking we are the most beautiful, the most handsome, the curviest, most muscular, most decent, charismatic, cherubic, capable of being different. . . . . and unique.

Mirrors even make us feel vulnerable. 

We look at ourselves searching for our own objectionable features, unpleasant flab of fat and cellulite, undesirable marks on our body, the off-putting complexion of our skin, thin and slender frames, signs of aging—graying hair and wrinkles and bags under the eyes.

At a moment that reflects back a version of who we are—good, bad, ugly—all of us is captured by such a preposterous piece of brittle object.

                                                    The Mirror

A powerful and highly underrated masterpiece subjected to mere glances and quick thoughts.

• The mirror is where an orator hides his fears. 

• It is where a dancer shuns her bad posture. 

• A baby derives joy watching themselves smile.

• A model engulfs fear and emanates confidence watching her own stunning image.

An animal apes itself in a mirror, discovers the secret and moves on, but we humans remain transfixed by watching our own self in various avatars. 

We come back, again and again, every morning, every visit to the bathroom, to the dressing table, to the salon—we come back to test ourselves for perfection and offer ourselves a piece of self admiration, at times, criticism.

We are as fragile as the object that creates a reflection of our selves. 

We aren’t really what we see in the mirror—we are much more at different times, doing different things. Beauty portrays in a good deed—giving, offering, taking, receiving, sacrificing—when we are unaware of our image.

By simply hanging on the wall, in a frame—mirrors take away the control from ourselves, giving us either frustration or satisfaction. Such is the power of this tool. 

Is it really true that an inanimate object cause so much more than a stir?

Wake up and look at yourself. Penetrate into your own eyes and shush your caustic mind. 

Don't blame the mirror.

Image Source:https://studiojoslizen.wordpress.com/tag/mirror/

I speak a different Language

I don’t speak the language of the world. I have difficulty in picking it up and conveying it.  

Though I do express through my writings and poetry but no longer get the feel with some 

random alphabets arranged in an order that is supposed to make sense.

I understand the language of universe and expressing it in myriad ways, through gratitude, 

politeness, kindness, a smiling face, a happy gesture, an honest truth, a gentle forgiveness 

and so many other ways makes life so simple.

 I try to be myself but change into a mirror when a person comes before me, so as to blend 

with the world, with him or her.  But that is not me that is what they want to see me as. I am 

unique like they are in their own worlds. Only I know me, how I am different inside and 

outside. How I feel the presence of someone guiding me right, just so perfectly right. That 

guide also is me. Not a dual-personality syndrome, else everyone has one. Everyone has 

their guide inside them, mine doesn’t talk to me. It makes me feel. It makes me feel happy, 

sad, angry, glad, contented, proud, jealous, guilty, careful, cautious, and fearful also but only 

sometimes. It also speaks the same language, the one that is not spoken. I know it is pure 

and truthful because it knows me. 

 It is Me. And it speaks one language which we all get without words - love.

I see serenity, blue waters, clear as crystals, so transparent that I can see its bed. I forget 

everything, jump in the water and let my body float. My shadow forms on its bed. The sun 

softly closes my eyes and I relax drowned in my originality. 

When the night falls I lay on the green grass, somewhere on high meadows. I open my eyes 

 to the twinkling of millions of stars, blessing me with their power and light. I feel my origins 

happening long back like one of those in the sky right now and simultaneously I sense 

my tears reaching the brim of my eyes and passing over in the honour of the wonders I am 

able to see through them, by them. So mystical yet so simple, thinking so, my heart fills with 

the joy of realisation of the truth, My Truth. I offer my gratitude in the form of my ‘living’, well. 

image credit:Hubble, NASA

                                                                                                     

                                       'The Furnace' Burns Within Me

How the language of Universe guides You Right: I am Change