This week, I posted on Facebook, “You are not broken. The mirror they are holding up to you is.”
I heard this from a dream.
If you know me, I sleep with a journal and a pen. For some reason, my muse doesn’t really appreciate when I’m sleeping. She doesn’t understand that I stayed up too late watching “Gilmore Girls” or “West Wing” so when she comes knocking at 3am, I have to answer. I’ve tried ignoring her and waiting until the morning, but it doesn’t work! I’m left sitting there waiting and waiting for her consuming so much coffee I could personally power the city of Oneida.
“You are not broken,” I heard her say. And then I saw a big beautiful studio with gorgeous wooden floors. There was a grand piano bathing in sunlight and one wooden chair facing the floor to ceiling mirrors.
I sat in the chair.
I looked into the mirror. It was a deep mirror. The more I looked into my eyes, the more I could see. They were beautiful. The more I looked at my hair, the more of it I could see. I could actually feel my father (we had the same color). And on and on. I kept seeing deeper and deeper into me. It felt like the warmest sunshine and the coolest rain all at the same time. Perfect. Right. As it should be.
And then the thought continued, “You are not broken. The mirror they are holding up to you is,” and I saw a rock hit the mirror from an outside source. It broke the mirror and now as I looked my face was cracked.
More rocks hit the mirror. The more the mirror cracked. The more my face looked unlike what I had seen.
I was not startled. I was the observer. I kept thinking, “you are not broken, the mirror they are holding up to you is,” which kept me calm even when some of the shards of glass broke open my skin. I knew that I was whole. I was not broken. It was the mirror. Not me.
It’s only Monday, so I will keep thinking about this dream and let you know if I discover anything.