Father Jonathan Tobias said to me with poetic license (on my part), “A: You live in a mirror. Step out. Use the Cross to break the glass. You know, where it says, “In Case of Emergency.” Break the glass. You are not in wonderland.”

But Father, the mirror is breaking me. It tells me I’m aging, and am overweight. The backwards camera mirror says this, plus that I have a crazed look in my eyes now when I try to make them happier than they are. The TV mirror sometimes tells me that people, including me, used to have a heart (though those more elite than I say it was cheesy kitsch) that we recognized when we looked at and listened to each other. It’s all gone now. What has replaced it is a ghostly heart hopelessly searching for the life it once had. Hearts died in the 90’s. Is it Clinton’s fault?

If I break these mirrors and look into my parents’ and brothers’ eyes I shrivel like a raisin. If I look into my former circle’s eyes I see aggressive arguments against Orthodoxy, “there-there”, or “that’s fine for you” tolerance. But most often, much less at the monastery, I see difference. I don’t know how to cope with difference. Difference, at least in what is tolerated or not, not that the same can’t be found in me, needs to sometimes be protected against, and I painfully struggle to discern when. Especially now that I have children that I am responsible for.

If I break all these mirrors what am I left with? Apophatic darkness?

Monastic eyes are different than others’ eyes. They know the struggle to not judge, to try to work on their own sins, yet to protect themselves from temptation (including idle talk) and an unsalvific environment.

Back out in the world, how much of it to let in?

To self: Meanwhile, look at icons, then close your eyes and say the prayers. Open your eyes and see the candlelight and say the prayers. Glance in the Priest’s eyes after Confession, then look down, open your mouth and take in Communion. Then stay in Church and say the prayers and make prostrations as much as you can.

At home, blindly and thankfully accept George’s love, pray, and keep the swimming pool clean. And please may the kids and future grandkids, if God gives them, never shrivel when they look in my eyes.