I am You, You are Me

It is being demonstrated to me, most forcibly, that we are all one and the same and interconnected. My worst traits are caricatured in my friends. I will elaborate:

My son brought a young woman home and I was unable to resist giving her the full guided tour of my studio. She seemed very fatigued afterwards; I probably bored her to tears as her English is not very good and I couldn’t resist reading her poems inspired by my son. This display of ego was a big mistake. My son may think twice about bringing her again.

Just days later, I was invited, together with another woman, to visit an old friend. Since I was last at her home, some years ago, she has taken up sculpture and adorned very corner of her most tasteful house and garden with her work. It was a very hot day and we arrived after a journey. She insisted on showing us every single work both outside and in. It was an incredible learning experience. Am I really like that? I took heart with the thought that at least I gave my son’s young lady a great meal before I bombarded her with my creations!

At lunch with a friend, I showed my intolerance of an old lady’s foibles. Just before we parted, she showed me a little bottle of disinfectant and said that she has taken to cleaning her hands with it to protect her from bacteria that might be present from contact with other people – for instance, before handling the supermarket trolley, or before opening a letter brought to her by someone who was unwell. Instead of gently trying to make her see that this was not a healthy development, that it is anxiety and trepidation that makes us sick, not human contact, I was aggressive and critical, not the place I want to be. I believe one should accept other people’s views on life with love and understanding, but I still possess a lot of anger.

Another friend is a dedicated teacher, an outstanding grandmother, an attentive friend and a creative writer, but she always makes one aware of her devotion to duty. Much as I love her, I find it irritating then realize that it is one of my traits.

A fellow poet always comments on his own poetry with superlatives. Recently, I told him angrily that it was an ugly habit, that he shouldn’t do it. Then I hear myself trying to persuade David that the book I am writing is a masterpiece.

I should be thoroughly chastened to discover I am an absolutely unbearable personality with all the worst characteristics of my friends, but the facts are presented to me with such humor and justice that I can only wonder at the artistry of the lessons.

Everyone serves as a mirror for us and for that reason you love them or are repelled by them. We are all interconnected, we are all one. I am not able to access this truth at all times because my ego is constantly getting in the way.