September 3, 2015
Bent, New Mexico
Even though I look at myself in the mirror almost every day I don’t often look into my eyes, I save that for my exchange with others. Sure, there is a glimpse, such as one might give a stranger to see who we have encountered, but it is brief. Perhaps a stranger might even get a deeper view, that short searching gaze we sometimes chance, seeking a glimmer of humor or intelligence. I always hope for that connection as it is so hard to find and may even stare on occasion. I am not afraid of people or of that exchange and it is most welcome when it occurs. When it does I offer a smile and hope for the same in return and I have met some wonderful people by doing so.
As for myself, those lingering looks into my own eyes are saved for deeper soul searching and in so many ways it is a measure of my life. I have to make myself do that, as I would imagine most people do. It is, for the most part, the moments of crisis that draw my gaze to my own eyes as I stand and stare into the mirror of my life. Most often I seek out an affirmation and will smile at myself and look for the twinkle of life which defines who I am, and who I wish to be. If it is absent I am in deep shit, though such is rarely the case for I almost always center myself well before I crash, I am good at that. While I may not always look into the mirror I have other means of centering myself and they have served me well.
I am a writer, a memoirist. I have kept a journal since my childhood and over the years compiled a history of my life. For me the page and the written word are my mirror to my soul and they have offered me an opportunity to reflect closely on the ebb and flow of my life. Even the blank spaces serve their purpose as they tell me I have drifted from my path and my Blog now serves as a harsh reminder of the same. If I intend to write daily, my posts are weekly, and when I miss them both I have strayed……..
What of this mirror of my life and how has it served me? It is hard to imagine a life unrecorded and with no reference points to reflect on. Certainly there are memories, we all have those, but so they are subjective also. I may well recall the best and the worst moments but what of the others, those with more subtle nuances which in the end define my life? There was a poem, for instance, which I titled “Foolish Girl.” I was but a girl when I wrote that for Mitch Mitchell, a man I still love after all of these years though I am grateful we never consummated that. I wrote that poem in 1985. In 1996 I retrieved it so as to share the inspiration with a friend though it was in regards to another such man as he. In that instant I had a life altering moment, rereading those words and realizing how little I had changed, and just how foolish I was! I might not have ever learned that lesson, though even now, nineteen years later I can see my flaws.
We all need to look in the mirror on occasion and oddly enough I just made my point. I can see my reflection so clearly and my eyes are just a little troubled.