The wind in the trees or water under the bridge

The mirror was clear before, or so we would have claimed. A bright reflection of our faces just as we knew them shimmering back at us. A perfect replica of the scene seen from two slightly differing angles. Two forms standing motionless, side-by-side, examining - not the future - but the present moment. Two sets of eyes watchfully, carefully deducing which way there was to go. In order to make the best possible move, we would have said.

But, we had grown so accustom to staring into a mirror that we had, perhaps, forgotten it was a replication all along.

And now, smoke and fog and mist have drifted before us and blurred the imaginary reality. Reminding us that it was a reflection - a perception after all. So that, as we stand in the midst of it, we can feel both winter and spring on our skins. Both death and a resurrection from. Both an end and a beginning. Both the darkness and the light.

So that when it clears, our eyes can be bright and wide again. And the world around us much clearer, crystalline. As though we've seen it now, for the first time. And the reflection in the mirror can be seen for what it was - a copy of the truth. A speckled, blotted, sketchy version of the space we had. And into it, a light is shone, bounding from its glinting surface into our eyes. Blinding us from the stare we held so long.

Should we turn, we would face reality. Should we turn, we would see the room wherein which we are, and the mirror. Should we turn, we will find the road is harder than it seemed. Should we turn, we could find ourselves capable of walking, now.

And yet. As it clears, something lingers. Some phantom scent or feeling. Some longing of something lost. A space we had pretended we had not seen. A definition we had left undefined. A word we had left unspoken.

Community, commune, group. Karass, cooperation, collegue, co-worker. Relationship, family, partner, cohabitation? All taken and all wrong.

Then, what? An instant, a moment, a circumstance, a situation? Perhaps.
Or, a movement just beginning.

Do you see it? The air and the mind and the thoughts and the way all clearing before us?

We could change this world were we to actually try.
Leave this cave and take down the beast. Leave this pathetic celebration of our marvels and our accomplishments and the death we have brought on our heels and in our bags and on our backs. Leave all of this false reality, all of this reflection, all of this illusion.

Leave the isolation and, together, take down the devil.

Or, sit on our hands and let the gods of hatred have this world.
We can still have Mars, I suppose.

I give us ten years.