The thing with mirrors is that they always want to tell the truth where we what is lies, or at least a little fibs, some wrinkles smoothed, hair now a color the mirror is more than capable of reflecting, but mirrors don’t bend to our wishes, and when they do, at carnivals mostly, the result varies between horror and hilarity.
You believe this is how, and where, it begins, but that is only your conception of it. You believe the mirror shows your face each morning, but it is merely polished glass, and you mind sees what it perceives to be you in the glass, while the glass is empty. It has no real beginning, at least not one that you or I can hope to identify, it has always been and it will never be, but we will perceive it to be as it has been, perceive it to have begun at some point in time, but time is also a perception, a way we can try to define our perceptions. You may well doubt all of this, but know that doubt is the beginning of understanding, so you have begun to walk along the way, which is where you are and have always been, if you can only conceive of it that way.
Across the river running limpid as mercury the sky is gun-metal gray and many stand in the windows of their small apartments and stare at buildings sitting like mausolea. On this side of the river running limpid as mercury the sky is gun-metal gray and many stand in the windows of their small apartments and stare at buildings sitting like mausolea. Tomorrow across the river the sky will be blue and a cold sun will shine and the river will swallow its reflection. Tomorrow on this side of the river the sky will be blue and a cold sun will shine and the river will swallow its reflection.
In this moment there is and can be no other. And when it is gone it never existed much as the next will never exist. So it is with us, a reflection of the ripple of the long sunk stone now nestling the bottom of the pond.