Musings: face in the mirror
I am reading a book of poems by Sylvia Plath. The poems themselves tell a tragic tale of fear, despair, eventually even a bit of dark madness. Although my fears and occasional despair come from very different sources, I find that I can relate to the intensity of her words. Sometimes I stare into a mirror and search vainly for some sign of the chaos inside, the endless struggle with an invisible, chronic illness that seems to consume so much of my thoughts and energy, often leaving me tired and bewildered. Is it real or just an illusion, a bad dream that only seems endless…maybe I’ll wake up and laugh nervously at the absurdity of it all. In this poem Sylvia talks about a woman searching vainly for who she really is, but prefers instead to believe the lying candles and the moon, living in their flickering shadows. Sometimes I feel that way…denial can be soothing. What do you see when you look in the mirror?
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
I hope you find peace and joy in your life,
Alan