Eisoptrophobia*

Channelling King Solomon is not an act of just, diplomatic wisdom; it is an amity equivalent of having a raw root canal especially if the opposing camps are mutually beloved feuding friends. You’d want to be open-minded, to be objective, to be impartial but both camps would want your sympathy, your patience, your understanding, your comfort, your support and your bias in their favour. (Despite glaring evidence of prime retardation—and no matter how shocking it may come—I actually have friends. Treasured, cherished, precious friends. Friends who demand to be heard, to be proven right in their arguments). Inasmuch as I want to take the neutral side, or to feign disinterest or declare non-involvement there’s this nagging necessity from within to bridge the communication and resolve things. Why do we engage in such rituals? Why do we want to fix things even when the problem refuses to be fixed? Why do we want peace in the face of proud stubbornness? Shouldn’t we just wave the big fat forefinger and shrug our shoulders off and proceed with our neat lives or choose obliviousness and face our own private chaos? I must ask. Not because I’m playing dumb. It’s because it’s difficult being smart with these things. Even the smart ones are not half as smart than they give themselves credit for. Because in the end, who can really say what’s right? Or what’s wrong? If ever these things exist at all. I am beginning to fear the dawning of a realization that we are all ignorant vagrants in diligent search for elusive truths. And achieving the truth will invalidate our sense of purpose. That’s why it’s stored in a secret vessel beyond our grasp: To give us a bogus sense of understanding. And in our great ignorance we begin to inflict each other our sense of righteousness. And we use what we know, no matter how flawed and fractured, because we look deeper into our inadequacies and summon and use what we suspect to be right. Possibly we are all wrong; but oh, how we ache to be right! Because we are trying to make sense out of our vaporous perception. Because the last thing we want is a mirror of our incomprehension. Because we don’t want to catch a passing glance of ourselves at the store window and see dirt staring back.

(* Eisoptrophobia- Fear of mirrors)