A Maze of Mirrors
It’s almost effortless today to see what my limitation is.
(There’s a joke in there somewhere.)
It’s the fact that I cannot see.
At least not in the real world.
In the unreal world, I’m an absolute wonder.
But here, with my feet sticking to Mother Earth, zip. Nada. A big, fat zero.
I think it was the way that I was brought up.
To be always standing outside the ring of people before me.
I think it gave me a kind of spiritual vision problem.
In life, I am far-sighted.
Now I see that I am far-sighted in my internal eyes, too.
God, I can see.
(Not really, but it works as a metaphor.)
The man across the street, not so much.
I’ve never known what was between the cracks in society.
Or even what was standing right in front of me for a long, long time.
I walk along, confronted by mirror after mirror. And it isn’t an interesting sight, so I turn inward and think about something else.
And by doing that, I have missed seeing a lot of things.
Everything to me, really, has been a lesson from God.
So anything I happened to look on became part of that lesson.
And my mind just kept clicking away, poking, stirring, bouncing.
What was around me was just elements in a laboratory that I used to work out whatever I was working out at the time.
It is a real wonder for me to sit down and admit that what is real is what is really real.
That rivers flow and stars shine and shirts pull out of a person’s waistband.
It’s not much.
But it’s my limitation:
I can see in visions.
I just can’t see in life.