This is a little something I wrote up. It captures the feelings I went through when I lost my faith.
I could never see what was behind the one way-mirror, but I always believed and truly felt that there was an awesome presence there; a presence worthy of the highest respect, but also one that desired to be an intimate friend. I used to speak directly to the mirror, believing that that the presence – possibly in some adjoining room - listened, and cared for me. Sometimes I even thought that the presence spoke back to me, although not in an audible voice, mind you. Its messages had to be found and studied elsewhere: in a book, from other people, from a feeling deep down inside of me. There was never any direct correspondence.
One day I started to doubt that there was someone behind the mirror. I asked – and then cried – for the hidden presence to reveal itself. It did not, and in a final stroke of frustration I flung my chair at it. The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces, and I suddenly saw that there was no room behind the mirror. No friend. Just a blank, solid wall.
“But this is impossible”, I cried to myself, “I know, deep down inside, that someone was there. I could feel his presence. I could hear his small, still voice. If there was no-one there, where did all these impressions come from? Where did all the certainty and belief have its source?”
I suddenly looked down and found my answer. From one of the shards of glass on the floor, I saw a reflection – a face looking back at me.
The face was my own. . .
(c) 2005 by Kevin Parry