Confined. Mirrors all around. Myself. That's all I see. I am stuck. Feet firmly planted. Not planted. Stuck. In goo. I struggle. The goo snaps my frail foot back in place. I beat the mirror. Wishing it would shatter.
I know. I know of a world beyond these reflective confines. The mirrors mock me. I long to look past them, but the more I gaze, nothing changes.
The same, sessile, lonely image looks back at me. Empty. Despondent. Dull. Dead.
In my mind, I reflect upon what I know to be true. A reality beyond these irredescent walls. Reflect- as if it is a memory. It is not a memory. Memories are in the past. This is present. It is real and true. But I cannot see it. It becomes fiction to me.
Which side of my walls is actually fiction?
The outside of my shiny confines, or this funhouse in which I am trapped?
The illusion. This fake, man-made falsehood. An impostor for substance. It surrounds me. And I cannot break my way out.
I give up. I gaze at my reflection. Become consumed. Entranced. It is all I have to gaze upon. So I fixate. Everywhere I look I only see me. Naturally, I begin to believe everything surrounds this singular point. Every wall around me has an image only because I am here providing it. This is all there is. I am surrounded... By me. I am the definer of all purpose and existence. All reality has me at its center.
I gaze upon the cold, reflective images of myself. Accepting that this is all there is.
my calling returns:
A pull away from this place. A desire to shift my gaze. A hope that there is something beyond me.
An open space. A fresh gaze. A place of freedom.
I stop looking around me, realizing that what I am searching for cannot be found horizontally.
So finally... I look up.
“Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.”
― C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity