I see a reflection around me, many thoughts,

Projecting their will on me, what I want me to see,

What others want me to see,

What others want me to be … to them.


This carnival tent where I live,

distorted with mirrors of many shapes and sizes,

illuminated and dark, big and small,

surrounding me with illusions of what is my life.

Or am I over thinking it?


What it this is not real at all?

Just a figment, The Truman Show,

total fakeness, and I am dreaming of what I AM,

And what others think of me.


Hang on, these reflections are real, but only an instant,

like a photograph, only a snapshot,

when what I really need a movie camera.

Maybe the illusion is the illusion.


These random thoughts, 20,000 a day,

make up only the distraction of a mind,

and who wants to control it.

Make me dress, react, smile, get angry

according to their will.


But these illusions are distractions,

or most of them are.

Thoughts of the world, the mind,

not of my soul.


For my soul is where reality lives. Eternally.

Dimly, through all the mirrors, fog, mist, shouting voices,

I suddenly see what matters.

The thoughts seen with the eyes of my heart,

where only love is the filter,

the receptor, the open arms,

the kiss that is God loving me. Always.


This is reality, through the mirrors.


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