“The mirror has been shattered. But what do the shards reflect?” INGMAR BERGMAN
I have recently become obsessed with The Shards. Beneath its deliberately excessive 1980s aesthetic, I found something much deeper and more disturbing: a reflection of our fractured identities, our dreams, and the strange ways we see ourselves and one another.
Are we all shattered mirrors?
And whose reflection are we actually seeing?
Is it truthful—or merely an assumption? An idea of who we are, who others are, what we desire, what happened to us, what is real, and what we have invented?
Like a broken mirror, we reflect only fragments. Different worlds. Different feelings. Different moods. Ours. Theirs. Sometimes we don’t even know which belongs to whom.
Perhaps this is one of the great tragedies of being human: we spend our lives interpreting reflections and mistaking them for reality.
So where is liberation?
Perhaps it begins when we stop trying to repair the mirror.
When we close our eyes.
When we stop looking at the endless projections of ourselves and others and descend somewhere deeper—beyond image, beyond identity, beyond the stories we have constructed.
Into the silent place where there is nothing left to reflect.
Only I AM.
And perhaps the mirror was never broken.
Perhaps we simply forgot what was looking through it.
