The soul is restless.
She longs to immerse herself in the great mystery of the Unio Mystica.
She longs to experience the Unio Mystica.
It is her deepest longing.
She seeks a transformative encounter.
She seeks connection.
She seeks Coniunctio.
She stirs like a butterfly that longs to take flight and yet cannot leave its enclosure.
Something within her reaches toward a greater expanse.
And yet she seems bound to the body in which she dwells.
It is her home
and at the same time her limit.
Where is she to go.
And what is it she seeks there.
Perhaps it is her fate to remain where she is.
To become still.
To pause.
Should she abandon her search.
Her longing.
Her striving.
The soul seems a captive on earth.
Deep within herself she senses that she did not choose to be here.
She is not free.
She dwells in a mortal body, yet her nature does not seem mortal.
Something within her longs to ascend.
Something within her remembers a greater home.
And yet she remains.
And there, in the stillness of her enclosure, she encounters herself.
In the mirror.
——
The soul has to stay where it is,
Even though restless, hearing raindrops at the pane,
The sighing of autumn leaves thrashed by the wind,
Longing to be free, outside, yet it must stay
Posing in its place. It must move
As little as possible. This is what the portrait says.
——
These lines are taken from John Ashbery’s Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror.
The poem originates in a painting by the Italian Renaissance artist Parmigianino.
Centuries later, John Ashbery encountered this image.
It would not let him go.
He returned to it again and again.
From this repeated encounter, Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror emerged.
A poem that is more than contemplation of a painting.
It becomes meditation on the self, the soul, and the limits of self-knowledge.
The gaze of the figure is directed toward something that eludes grasp.
Not only the face appears in the mirror.
The longer Ashbery remains with this image, the more a question unfolds:
How far can the soul reach beyond herself without losing herself.
Already in the opening, the poem circles this question.
He writes:
——
The glass chose to reflect only what he saw
Which was enough of his purpose: his image
Glazed, embalmed, projected at a 180-degree angle.
The time of day or the density of the light
Adhering to the face keeps it
Lively and intact in a recurring wave
Of arrival. The soul establishes itself.
But how far can it swim out through the eyes
And still return safely to its nest? The surface
Of the mirror being convex, the distance increases
Significantly; that is, enough to make the point
That the soul is a captive, treated humanely, kept
In suspension, unable to advance much farther
Than your look as it intercepts the picture.
——
The soul becomes conscious of herself.
She knows she cannot go elsewhere.
She must remain.
And she must sit still.
For she is being portrayed.
So she takes her seat.
With dignity.
Almost as upon a throne.
As one does when being portrayed.
As though all eyes were fixed upon her.
Yet she does not smile.
She does not move.
She does not disturb.
Dignified and empty, she gazes into the distance.
Upon her Seat of the soul she is being portrayed.
What is taking place within her.
What lies behind this hollow gaze.
We wish to know the soul.
We observe her in the mirror.
And as soon as we try to capture her, she withdraws.
Perhaps because mystery is freedom itself.
It is the vastness of her gaze that cannot be captured.
We wish to understand the infinite.
And cannot hold it.
——
I see in this only the chaos
Of your round mirror which organizes everything
Around the polestar of your eyes which are empty,
Know nothing, dream but reveal nothing.
——
The soul becomes conscious of herself.
She recognizes that this is a self-portrait.
And that her task here is:
Soul painting in a convex mirror.
A challenge.
She must look with stillness and precision and trace what appears.
——
And just as there are no words for the surface, that is,
No words to say what it really is, that it is not
Superficial but a visible core, then there is
No way out of the problem of pathos vs experience.
You will stay on, restive, serene in
Your gesture which is neither embrace nor warning
But which holds something of both in pure
Affirmation that does not affirm anything.
——
As a captive she cannot speak, only see.
Is she capable of action.
She asks.
She knows she is conscious of her own existence.
What can she do.
She reflects.
She can provide a space for what happens.
For she observes that much takes place beyond her control.
And yet she perceives it by remaining still—like an invisible Queen upon her throne, upon her Seat of the soul.
She listens.
She wishes to understand the sounds, since she cannot go elsewhere.
If she cannot go, she can understand.
She descends into the mystery.
She decides this is what she wants.
She affirms her fate as soul.
What is she.
She asks again.
What role is she to fulfil, if her nature is not bound to earth, yet she is enclosed in a body.
She contemplates.
She withdraws into herself—alone within her palace of the soul.
She should surrender to life in order to experience it in fullness.
She wishes to know life as a whole.
How would this be possible.
She should open.
To what.
To experience.
How does experience arrive.
She needs guests.
And suddenly she understands what has been missing.
Voices.
There had always been too many sounds for stillness to arise.
And now—having finally come to rest—she finds herself missing them like music.
Sometimes dissonant.
Sometimes harmonious.
Sometimes a many-voiced choir.
Sometimes sheer noise.
At times unbearable.
Yet now she even misses the cries.
Yes.
She misses every voice.
They were the music of her soul.
A polyphony she once could not endure.
Now she longs for the symphony.
She remembers turning away from the many-voiced choir because it became too much.
She no longer wished to hear.
Nor to witness suffering.
It became unbearable.
She was too sensitive.
Something had become distorted.
She could no longer trace its origin.
It must have been long ago.
Eventually she pushed everything away.
And only now, in the mirror of the self-portrait, she sees it.
Something must change.
She cannot remain alone with herself.
She invites guests.
——
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and
invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
Rumi
——
The Soul Queen is moved.
She recognizes:
She is the hostess.
Her identity appears in the mirror.
Through stillness she recognizes her nature.
She receives.
She gives place.
She cares.
She listens.
She accepts responsibility.
She is nothing other than what she is.
She knows the image is only image.
She does not identify with it.
She knows she is also the painter.
The Queen.
She does not belong to images.
All that passes, passes.
She longs for eternity.
But this longing belongs to night.
Now she works.
Here she is earthly.
Here she serves.
She had been lonely.
She had missed voices.
Life.
She had silenced it.
Eternity can wait.
Life is a guest house.
She recognizes this.
She will be a good hostess.
She receives.
She gives place.
She listens.
She holds responsibility.
Guests arrive.
She watches.
She prepares the plates.
——
Special Plates
Notice how each particle moves.
Notice how everyone has just arrived here
from a journey.
Notice how each wants a different food.
Notice how the stars vanish as the sun comes up,
and how all streams stream toward the ocean.
Look at the chefs preparing special plates
for everyone, according to what they need.
Look at this cup hat can hold the ocean.
Look at those who see the face.
Look through Shams’ eyes
into the water that is
entirely jewels.
Rumi
——
The feast begins.
She rests.
But sound returns.
Unrest.
A disturbance.
A discussion arises.
Tension.
She had prepared everything.
Something shifts.
This is not the moment for sleep.
She remains awake.
She holds the table.
Not all are in harmony.
Not all are grateful.
Some criticize.
Some disturb.
She does not understand why difference becomes conflict.
She almost sleeps.
She does not.
She remains present.
She allows speech.
Greed sits at the table.
He eats without restraint.
Lady Little beside him.
She watches him with disapproval.
She criticizes his manner of eating.
Anger bursts.
Tears.
Greed turns in rage.
Lady Little weeps.
The disturbance spreads.
She observes.
Should she act.
Or remain.
She does not yet know.
Mirror and Envy.
Twins.
They reflect one another.
Mirror reflects Envy.
Envy compares herself to Mirror.
What she sees becomes lack.
Mirror remains reflection.
Envy intensifies.
Even beauty becomes difference.
The loop closes.
She observes.
Greed is Greed.
Envy is Envy.
Love is Love.
Hatred is Hatred.
She does not impose change.
She remains observer.
Host.
Receiver.
She holds space.
Then she hears beneath the table.
Fear.
Hidden.
“Come out.”
“Why.”
“You are invited.”
“And if it is dangerous.”
“You will be accompanied.”
“Who am I there.”
“A guest.”
“And if I remain.”
“You remain in darkness.”
Fear hesitates.
Then rises.
She leads her to the table.
Beside Courage.
A place is there.
The noise softens.
Not silence.
Listening.
She recognizes:
This was not it.
Only the beginning.
The soul does not want order.
It wants encounter.
It wants Coniunctio.
It wants recognition.
It wants love.
It wants Unio Mystica.
The space empties.
The guests leave.
Silence remains.
She stands before the mirror.
Not to know herself.
But what she is ready for.
She sees.
The mirror sees.
Something appears.
No longer image alone.
An Other.
The mirror was never empty.
She leaves the mirror.
The palace.
She is ready.
To live.
To encounter.
Experience has shaped her.
Silence has gathered her.
Voices have taught her.
She knows.
Something within her opens.
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