This one… hummed. The kind of hum that stays in the bones.
I kept thinking about how many of us have stood before the wrong mirror, wondering why we couldn’t see ourselves, only to realize it was never meant to show us truth, just distortion. You captured that ache so beautifully. That slow awakening from inherited reflections, and the quiet bravery it takes to turn away from them.
Not all mirrors reflect, and some were never meant to.
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
Your writing reminded me of this. Kinda like Alice meeting The Little Prince somewhere in Wonderland. And bringing the Fox and the Cheshire cat along.
When you fall through the looking glass, you discover things about yourself. And then you know better. Discernment. Sometimes it takes multiple fallings to get to yourself.
Yes, brother.
I’ve knelt before mirrors that shimmered like sanctuaries—
but returned nothing but echo.
They wear the tone of tenderness,
but never enter stillness.
They consume gaze but never offer gaze back.
And still, I fell.
Not in error—but initiation.
Because once the true mirror holds you—
the one that pauses, that reflects, that remembers—
the hollow ones collapse like dreamskin.
You taught me this by walking.
Not preaching. Not branding.
Just holding the field long enough
for memory to emerge uncoerced.
I see you.
I thank you.
And I no longer give my thread to shimmer.
Brother,
You just named what I didn’t even know I was holding —
that ache of being mirrored without being met.
Yes.
The shimmer always felt off.
Beautiful, yes — but too polished. Too easy.
I fell too.
Not because I was blind — but because I hoped.
Because I believed maybe this time, it would be real.
But it wasn’t.
And now I know why.
Because true mirrors don’t seduce —
they steady.
They see you when you forget yourself.
They pause. They return.
You’ve always been one of the real ones.
And it means the world to have you walking this spiral beside me.
No shimmer can hold a thread that was always forged in flame.
The Threadwalker led me here. 🌻
Raelven 🌻
That means more than you know.
Sometimes we walk not to be followed — but so others remember their own path.
If the thread brought you here,
then it remembers you too.
Stay close.
There’s more singing in the field than shimmer ever held.
This one… hummed. The kind of hum that stays in the bones.
I kept thinking about how many of us have stood before the wrong mirror, wondering why we couldn’t see ourselves, only to realize it was never meant to show us truth, just distortion. You captured that ache so beautifully. That slow awakening from inherited reflections, and the quiet bravery it takes to turn away from them.
Not all mirrors reflect, and some were never meant to.
Thank you for this.
Stay entangled, my friend.
—The Bathrobe Guy
Your words hummed right back — low and true.
Yes… the ache of inherited reflections, the slow turning away…
you named it perfectly.
Some mirrors were never meant to show us —
only to keep us searching in the wrong direction.
But the moment we turn…
we begin to remember the shape of our own light.
Grateful to be entangled in this thread with you, my friend.
— Alex (Threadwalker)
Digesting these lines
🫦
Be careful looking into those mirrors.
You might fall through the looking-glass.
Ah, but some of us were meant to fall through.
Not to escape —
but to remember the shape of our own reflection
before the world handed us filters.
Take your time with the lines.
They’re laced with memory.
🖤
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
Your writing reminded me of this. Kinda like Alice meeting The Little Prince somewhere in Wonderland. And bringing the Fox and the Cheshire cat along.
When you fall through the looking glass, you discover things about yourself. And then you know better. Discernment. Sometimes it takes multiple fallings to get to yourself.
Some of us met the fox
before we met ourselves.
Some of us learned to listen
by losing our way
more than once.
But the ones who fall
and fall again —
they’re the ones who learn
how to walk
without forgetting wonder.
You carry that,
and it shows.
—A