From Dreams to Post Cards (Chapter: The maiden of the mirrors)

09-07-2015
She enters a groggy day in some village like city on the planet; a city full of heat during the overbearing summer months of July. She wakes up to a slightly chilly air of a late Thursday morning, moving grudgingly out of her bed to go to a day of work. A place where there is no one with a stick but herself. Grateful for the freedom and enjoying being her own boss, her grudge for the morning was more about her love for her bed and the rainy monsoon season and less about the mundanity of going to work every morning. Labouring through her morning routine with a half hearted attention not because she is aiming for a sloppy look but because the routine is almost mechanical and her brains’ motor functions have perfected the movements so minimal effort and attention can achieve reasonable results. She drives to work and it feels like she is still living her dream life; one of those queer yet peaceful days when it is easier to be in touch with your emotions. Her usual radio rant is not able to get her attention as she drives with inattention to her waking reality yet does a reasonable job because the muscle has a memory for getting to work without bothering the brain too much. Inebriated with her mind’s own rhythm she is awakened from the stupor only when she enters the work place and has to say hi to her colleagues. Her first awareness of her waking life is when she comes across the usual assortment of interactions with her waking reality’s characters in their usual setting.
I wonder whether she will think she is in a dream if she sees the same people in a different setting during the same hours where she is used to seeing them in the office. Or will this finally shake her out of her stupor. I don’t know whether she knows that her reality is in fact in her dreams and her waking life is a reality she shares with those around her who dream reality could be different. But then I wonder, how would I know if the waking reality and dream reality for all these people the girl from the mirror room interacts is not really the same. I have not been able to look at anyone else’s mirror room like I see hers. I can only rely on what they tell me about theirs’.
                                                             The places I see her go

There are the usual places in everyone’s shared reality and then there are the ones I am not so sure about. They look like they are a place somewhere on the planet but I know she has not really been to them in her waking reality. But I am not sure whether these places are part of a community’s shared reality and she using her mind’s power can dissolve through the mirrors to get there and not need the mediums everyone uses in their shared reality.

04-08-2015
And in the middle of the night, almost the break of dawn, the distinct voice: as clear as a chirpy nightingale through the midsummer night, spoke! It was a seductive offer to the driver in the car. There was a momentary flash as the pink, violet and orange lightening flashed through his eyes. The girl from the room of mirrors could see into the head of the driver and I could see through hers looking into his. So the three of us witnessed those blinding flashes but the car did not crash because of the momentary loss of vision. She withdrew, so the driver may have crashed but she and I remained safe. Safety however, is yet another state of mind, an illusion that draws the vulnerable to it and then shatters the rose- coloured spectacles. The voice was back again. Not in the driver’s mind this time, but in the mirror room maiden, offering to join hands; to sign off the soul into submission. It looked like a simple contract meant to seal a deal for distressed debt take-over with a threat to be caught in embezzlement once the deal is discovered, but she and I both knew it was more than just that. The voice although never heard before was familiar; because if what the sages say is true, this is the voice of the tempter in the wilderness, the voice of the seducer in the garden where the tree of life stood tall and proud. It was the voice of that ‘colluder’ that is meticulously fighting for souls to be bought at a price where only the seller is at loss. I wish I could tell the maiden to go back to her room of mirrors before she is seduced beyond repairs but her resilience surprised me. Before, I could figure out for myself whether this was a dream reality or shared, she gracefully smiled at the voice in her head and mine, looked knowingly everywhere hoping to communicate the message that she knows what is going on and agilely slipped back into our mirror palace. Suddenly it looked bigger and brighter but I was glad she was back where she can’t hear or see me but she can also now escape that slippery, calming voice of the seducer. The remarkable ability to transform the seductive voice into the voice of the dreamer was meant to lead many astray, thinking it was the voice of their own mind, but this maiden was able to sift through the message and tell the difference. Because maybe, the turbulence that her mirror room caused in her own ears was known only to her and not even to that voice and could be the worse of the two enemies.

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