In the Mirror

imes I have to look in the mirror to be reminded of who I am. Not a deliberate act but incidental, while shaving. It recalls to me who I am now, what I have become. At other times, perhaps in the night, I may lie awake when anticipating some event of uncertain outcome, some issue yet unresolved, some journey out of the ordinary. Unconsciously, I slip back into an earlier time, where ghosts of my past still lurk in wait, insinuating themselves into my old weak spots. The weak spot is our friend, to tell us, to warn us, to confirm our mortality. In the same way, an electric power circuit needs a fuse box. This is how the weak protects the strong. Such is the Tao, you might say, or at any rate  as described in Lao Tzu’s ancient text, as in this excerpt from the best and most literal translation I can find:

The weakest thing in the world
Overcomes the strongest thing in the world
What doesn’t exist finds room where there’s none
Thus we know help comes with no effort
Wordless instruction
Effortless help
Few in the world can match this

(From Red Pine’s translation of the Tao Te Ching)

This could be a theory of illness: something sent to stop us in our tracks, when they are the wrong tracks. At least it applies to some illnesses.

If the face that I see in the bathroom mirror, when it reminds me of who I am now, could be reproduced photographically, I would be glad enough to display it, but it cannot. Like all angelic messages, it says “For your eyes only”. It’s a glimpse into the soul-body, a physical presence forged in the span of one life, a piece of the whole, and as such, to borrow religious terminology, a piece of God’s work.

I’ve named this post in homage to Fernando Pessoa. It’s a subtitle within his Book of Disquiet. I envy his ability to write from a state of disquiet. Like him perhaps, I would gladly write further memoirs, but it’s the facts which dissuade me. I might have to explain them to my reader, and would feel pressure to justify and defend them. I’m not in need of a confessional, but if I were, it would be a private matter.

Better to be Everyman—to finally achieve that status—a work of God, receiver of a gift, a slow learner who spent his life catching up with what wiser and simpler persons see as obvious.

Shaving each day, I can’t rely on that returned glance in the mirror to get a reminder. For a woman it may be different. She looks at her face, with critical or remedial intent, probably several times a day. It’s called not letting yourself go. It makes me think of renewal. We all do it in sleep. For me walking round the block, even to ease my back and clear the head—refumigate, almost—is a minor renewal, even when it hardly amounts to “wayfaring”. One sees signs of renewal in all things and all seasons.

Comments:
Cindy:
That loft conversion looks more like an observation tower to me. I don’t like it one bit and I don’t think Prince Charles would either. But to each his own, I guess.
Yes, nothing like a walk in the fresh air & breezes to make a person feel renewed!
Love this one!
Vincent
Now that you mention it, I see what you mean. Windows dark inside, you don’t know what eyes are following you down the road. The planks protruding, like several machine guns aimed between your eyes. But such is the power of imagination. especially in those night-time hours. None of that occurred to me in the context of my stroll: only that this is home ground, & safe.