Reflection

The subconscious slinks into our dreams filling our back packs with rocks. Stones of sorrow that do not exist in the real world, but which we are afraid to put down because maybe they should be.

In the morning we try to wipe the crud from our eyes, baptizing our faces before the mirror and reflecting on the differences between the Muses who counsel us into greatness and the Trickster who leads us astray.

I look into your eyes and I see the reflection of oneness drawn by kindred spirits seeking out their own kind, drawn like amalgamated quick silver back into the oneness none of us ever leave. And I marvel at how closely you remain true to that oneness even as you plod along a way full of cracks and crevices meant to test you.

It is difficult to walk that line between honor and truth and fear and darkness. Darkness, like all bullies, calls so much more loudly.

If you could only see the reflection of your truth in my eyes, perhaps I could lighten your load by either carrying some of your stones for you, or throwing them away completely.

None of us see ourselves as we truly are and I don't know if that is a blessing, or a curse.