I am a runner, a traveler. I have always been.
I ran from myself. I ran out of me to travel astral universes that can reveal my identity, that can help me to find myself.
I searched the Earth to find mirrors to project myself in and see who I really am.
I found many of them.
I was dreaming that the mirror I’ll find is magical, and I am Snow White – a stunning air of the enchanted reflection.
Yet, in the image I saw, there was no princess, no Snow White.
I saw just ugly sorrows and pains that overshadowed my face. I wasn’t even pretty.
The suffering bounced back, disfigured me and the being I thought I was.
I thought a demon took over my soul and made my face reflect its hideous look.
In the Shadow World, I sank in the depth of the Earth to find the demon and unleash myself from its power.
I roamed and rummaged burning deserts, I burned my skin, fret my legs to the bones, bleed out.
I am still remembering the boiling blood’s smell dried out by the desert dust taking my breath away.
This is when I found its “Ugliness”. I faced it.
I screamed out my voice and my lungs. I cried out, boiling salty tears that stung when touching bleeding wounds. I endured all that pain until I thought I could not bear more.
I surrendered. I wanted to understand why do I have to carry with me this curse.
The only answer I got was that “through the lens of fear, suffering and rage one’s face can be ugly.”
I left then the heart of the Earth to travel to the skies.
I went to meet angels and light creatures.
I flew out to the heavens watching my white angel wings en-lacing my body.
I felt so light, like a feather swaying in the wind and so shiny like the morning star.
I asked every light being I met on my way to tell me why do I see that blunt face in the mirror.
But the only answer I got was that “through the lens of love and acceptance, one’s face can be beautiful.”
I came back disappointed. I looked in the mirror again.
Through that filter of love and surrender, each scar was radiating a shining golden light.
I saw the prettiest amber eyes washed by the glam tears, flashing rays of hope and love, of kindness and compassion, of truth and graciousness.
That angelic apparel, channeling love through the light tattooed wound scars and shapes, is branded to my retina and scratched to my magic mirror.
It reminds me that I am not my scars, I am not my skin, I am, and I chose the lens!
This poem was written by Mihaela Stancu and has all rights reserved.
(© Mihaela Stancu, published June 2020)