the mirror and the empty book.

It was almost 30 years ago I wrote that fable on the beginning page, and read it in front of a large group of classmates I did not know at the university so far from my home. It was important to me to stand and say those words out loud, words that were written in one hurried take, as if those truths were like the mercury I played with from a broken thermometer when I was young. Quicksilver, fascinating and dangerous.

The mirror has worked, off and on, in the years since. The empty book filled with quotes of other mystics, and lists of my intentions, wished for then lost and grieved. Endlessly seeking to find someone to write the pages, forgetting what I knew at 23, the book is to be written by you, not for you.

And then, my sister asked me a question, just before I turned 48, looking ahead to my 50th birthday, what would I like to do? Did I want to take a trip? In that moment, a voice, maybe from under that enormous oak tree, said no—no I don’t want to take a vacation. What I truly want is to be whole. I want to rest from this lifetime of trying and seeking and working so hard to matter. So I do want to go somewhere, I want to go back to everywhere I lived, and find what I left there. I want to take back what is mine, that I gave away, and gather it all together again.

I didn’t realize until writing out that old fable again, I was going on a quest.

One thought on “the mirror and the empty book.

  1. Chantelle November 28, 2021 / 10:50 pm

    Gives me chills, it’s so beautifully written. Bravo! So proud of you for having the willingness and courage to share the wisdom, that you so diligently labored to learn.


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