Have I ever really seen me? Not just a reflection, but honestly? Each mirror shows me something, but what allows me to see?

I think I’ve found my true core, but I soon discover it’s another image. When will these endless images show me who I really am?

All around me are familiar faces, worn-out places.

A mirror is clear yet holds nothing inside. It’s empty but filled with appearances. What’s real – the mirror or the reflections? And who’s asking this?

True clarity shows everything else. But when I try to hold onto it, I create another image.

Empty yet aware. Still yet responsive. Lacking substance yet not fully void. How can something exist if it has nothing of itself?

With no direction home…

Every attempt to understand adds more layers to see through. Every discovery is another image.

Who wears those masks? And who tries to take them off?

No eye can see its own seeing. No thought can grasp its own thinking. Yet, strangely, this is happening.

Maybe to see is to be seen. Maybe to know is to be known. Perhaps just two reflections are looking at each other.

Everyone might already know that this immediate showing appears before any separation.

You are always welcome.