The Blank Mind
Sometimes I have no thoughts. I mean none. Everything inside me is empty....a great space. I search for things, but nothing is there. Where did it all go? Where does it hide? So I thought I'd write something to see if it was indeed hiding and would rear its ugly little head, or if I was truly running on empty. I'm addicted to this place, you know. Right now in my life I depend on it for survival someway. I know that's crazy, because in many ways this is an unreal place, this place inhabited by men (mostly) who have been abused. It's like walking into a whole universe of mirrors. Some portray you exactly and others distort you in different ways, but they are all you in some form. And you are comfortable there, except for the ones that you feel distort you the most. And yet those are the mirrors you study the most, because, the more you study them, the more you realize that they don't distort you really that much at all. And you realize that as you look around this universe, you start to get a picture of yourself. The mirrors reflect all sides of you. You cannot hide any part of yourself.
And then you become fascinated and strip yourself naked in front of the mirrors. You must see everything...the good and the bad. You must know. And you become comfortable here and you hate it out there, so you come back as often as possible to sit in the comfort of the mirrors.
But all my worlds are unreal. None of them fit together exactly. They are like parts of a jigsaw puzzle that should fit together, but don't exactly and no amount of pushing and positioning will allow them that perfect fit. So the puzzle can never be complete. There are too many unknowns. Gradually the puzzle may be filled in, but not for a long time, it seems.
The world on the outside is not real because there are no mirrors, and when, there are no mirrors, you have to imagine who you are and where the scars are, and you have to live that way and pretend that you know those things. And you close yourself off for protection and put on the clothes of fear and of pretense and of confidence. And you get through your day of unreality that way. You've done it all your life. It's comfortable.
And then you run back to the mirrors and strip off your clothes and dance before them and see yourself and you relax in who you are...really are. And you don't want to leave. Sleep pulls you out...work pulls you out...relationships pull you out.
Relationships are the hardest unrealities of all, because you long for reality there. You long to put yourself on the line there and say "See, this is me. This is what I saw in the mirrors. It's not bad. It's me. It's who I am." But you know there is no understanding outside the universe of the mirrors. Only they understand. Only they take in your image as it is,understand and reflect it in so many ways. And so you keep bits of yourself away...the bits that would frighten or surprise or cause disdain or maybe even ridicule. For your whole life has been trying to understand who you are and how you got this way and why no one else seems to function just the same...except the mirrors. They function just like you do.
And then one day, you're in that universe and there is a new person, a new man, who walks tentatively through the door. And you say nothing, but allow him his room and allow him to study this new universe he has found and to see himself in the mirrors and to smile and to laugh and to cry and to dance naked through the mirrors. And you look down and suddenly you understand...you reflect him as he dances...as he learns. You yourself have become a mirror.
And then you become fascinated and strip yourself naked in front of the mirrors. You must see everything...the good and the bad. You must know. And you become comfortable here and you hate it out there, so you come back as often as possible to sit in the comfort of the mirrors.
But all my worlds are unreal. None of them fit together exactly. They are like parts of a jigsaw puzzle that should fit together, but don't exactly and no amount of pushing and positioning will allow them that perfect fit. So the puzzle can never be complete. There are too many unknowns. Gradually the puzzle may be filled in, but not for a long time, it seems.
The world on the outside is not real because there are no mirrors, and when, there are no mirrors, you have to imagine who you are and where the scars are, and you have to live that way and pretend that you know those things. And you close yourself off for protection and put on the clothes of fear and of pretense and of confidence. And you get through your day of unreality that way. You've done it all your life. It's comfortable.
And then you run back to the mirrors and strip off your clothes and dance before them and see yourself and you relax in who you are...really are. And you don't want to leave. Sleep pulls you out...work pulls you out...relationships pull you out.
Relationships are the hardest unrealities of all, because you long for reality there. You long to put yourself on the line there and say "See, this is me. This is what I saw in the mirrors. It's not bad. It's me. It's who I am." But you know there is no understanding outside the universe of the mirrors. Only they understand. Only they take in your image as it is,understand and reflect it in so many ways. And so you keep bits of yourself away...the bits that would frighten or surprise or cause disdain or maybe even ridicule. For your whole life has been trying to understand who you are and how you got this way and why no one else seems to function just the same...except the mirrors. They function just like you do.
And then one day, you're in that universe and there is a new person, a new man, who walks tentatively through the door. And you say nothing, but allow him his room and allow him to study this new universe he has found and to see himself in the mirrors and to smile and to laugh and to cry and to dance naked through the mirrors. And you look down and suddenly you understand...you reflect him as he dances...as he learns. You yourself have become a mirror.