Mirror Talk: A Teaching in Reflection

I was pacing. Caught in the aftershocks of temptation — tangled in over-analysis, halfway between shame and grace. Then I passed a mirror — full-length, honest, unavoidable. I glanced… and whispered, “I can’t even look at you.” And I meant it. Not just the image — but the being inside the image, the soul who’d almost veered off track again. I walked further — and passed another mirror. An old one. A beautiful one. The glass is weathered, its surface holding time like a secret. Its frame — a grid of wooden 4x4 tiles, each hand-carved, each unique, like ancient stories etched in grain. Tribal. Earthy. An elder among mirrors. And that’s where I stopped. That mirror didn’t flinch. It met me. I looked into it — really looked. And I said: “If you can’t look at yourself in the mirror, then maybe you shouldn’t do what it is that’s making you feel this way.” We stared at each other for what felt like forever. And then — the mirror spoke: “I like the way you look now.” “I like the way you feel now.” “I like the decision you made to come home.” “This… this is what’s worth looking at.” And I just stood there — not in shame, but in presence. Not crumbling, but reflecting. Not high. Not hiding. Just here. A moment of return worth remembering.