Mirror Floor
“Mirror, mirror on the floor, who is the most mystical of them all?”
I’ve told people around me that I rarely do the ritualistic stuff of spirituality. Yes, in the recent past I was that person who “glamorized” the practice of meditation and even the offering stuff. I’m doing it like a hermit who did a “pertapaan” to searching something within, or to be honest, what I’m doing is not truly looking within, I was looking somewhere else, somewhere out there. To be honest, back then I didn’t really sure what is out there too, and don’t you dare to think just because now I write this, I know what is out there. I don’t know. Maybe, I don’t really want to know any more than this. Or as my intuition says, I’m not yet there to know more.
All I know now, what I saw in my days when I’m looking out there, is what truly mirroring what’s within me. I realize back then I’m looking for signs, for the mystical to unravel in front of my eyes, for something that I couldn’t fathom. I’m looking for something beyond the comprehension of my little gray soft thing in my skull. But that’s the thing. I still rely on my senses to make sense of all this spiritual stuff. Thus, I only see what I could see within my brain, things that are already stored in my brain. So that’s why I see orbs, or chimera, or three big mystical figures in this country. That’s all I have in my brain. Sometimes, it got me thinking. See, it’s doing the thing. Thinking. But anyway, it got me thinking. All the stuff I see in my meditative space when I’ve still glamorized the practice itself is the glamorized stuff of the mystical.
I’m not saying those things is not mystical at all, or even questioning those things is even true or not. Heck, they are Thee Mystical. They are big symbols of things. Like the big bouquet of roses of the romantic dinners with your love. They carry big meanings, and other people might see that way too. And this is the part I will argue with myself, that all spiritual, are all symbolic after all. But the thing is, now, what I believe is, spirituality in the larger picture, is actually what is behind the big symbols. It’s so simple yet so complex, it’s the paradox, it’s the nature of the non-duality, that what is all is all it is.
So what’s the meaning of an orb saying I’m into the next level? And what’s the meaning of a chimera looking out of me in the Eden-like garden? What’s the meaning of the first president, the ruler of the southern ocean, and my ancestors greatest’s king saying I’m a chosen ones? Nothing much. Because all of them are my higher self that loves shapeshifting because they know back then I will only believe the big gesture of spirituality. Of course, I can unpack all the individual symbols and semiotics of them, but that will defeat its purpose for me back then. That’s why it doesn’t really matters now.
Now, when I’m looking out there, looking above ironically, all I see is pitch black. Not because I’m losing touch with what is mystical. Not because I lost interest in the wonders. I believe, whoever, whatever things beyond our senses are out there. Still doing their things. You know, magic and universe things. But now I am left in this pitch-black room, where, of course, metaphorically, I can’t use any of my senses. And when I’m finally sitting down, and not trying to reach out to whatever is out there, using my senses, in a limited frame of my brain build. I finally understand that I am in this room with a mirror floor.
In this mirror floor room, I finally “just know” and “just feels” that the mystical, supernatural, beyond comprehension is always there, somewhere inside all of us. Because whatever big symbols out there, must be somehow come from somewhere, and really somewhere is inside us all along. When I finally see the reflection below me. I see my reflection as a reflection of everything else. When I move my hands, I see millions of other people and things move their hands, in all directions we can imagine. When I’m tearing up, I see millions of people and things express what I know as sadness, but they may be seen, heard, feels differently. It looks like a scream, it looks like a silent sleepless night at 3 AM, it looks like a gulp of cheap alcohol, it looks like sleeping outside a mosque, it looks like tides washing up the beach, it looks like a volcano eruption, it looks like a mass burial, it looks like a stolen land, it looks like forgotten tales.
“Mirror, mirror on the floor, who is the most mystical of all?”, I whisper to myself with a little chuckle, as I looking how things unravel below me. And at that moment, as I “see” millions of things that “I Know”, “I Understand” melt with big black cloud of “I Don’ Know” and “I Don’t Understand”, and it becomes a little fire, that lit this room. Finally I “see” what it is. Beyond this room, or ironically, above this room, is just….. another mirror. And finally, I see them smiling. It’s me from another side. Saying “gotcha!”.
