My prompt for writing this article is the movie Mirrors. It stunk, the actors whispered too much, and it was way too boring for me to watch in its entirety, but I gleaned enough to gather the power of mirrors. I also want to get in a whine for that gory bathtub scene. Gross! I hate it when I feel the compulsion to pull my jaws asunder until I'm a bloody mass. The movie was not good; in fact it was bad and bloody in an unpleasant way! I won't give away anymore, should you care to see it for yourself, but the premise of the movie was good - that you cannot escape your reflection. It's everywhere, just waiting to be snagged by evil spirits. As though my soul was grabbable. Hmph!
Personally, I've always been intrigued with mirrors, though I ignore them if, from afar, they appear to be dirty. I just don't like that. I like antique mirrors. When I come upon one, I normally will dissociate as I wonder what that mirror has captured. I think of Amy Grant's, "If These Walls Could Speak." As a sensate, I feel what it must have been like so many thousands of years ago to discover your reflection for the first time. ("There's a gap between my two first teef!") I feel the pain of having to cover every mirror in the house, I remember playing with the dark side at sleepovers, and certainly I will not scry, watch Bloody Mary, or see Mirrors again.
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