Mirror of the Soul

Over the past few days, I have been thinking a great deal about initiation and about the fact that, by definition, an initiation brings about a fundamental transformation in both a person’s ontological and social state. Initiations involve trials as well as the symbolic death of part of one’s identity, allowing a person to be, in a sense, reborn and to assume a new role within society.

Last night, I struggled to fall asleep. My mind was restless until I drifted into a kind of half-sleep. I found myself in a forest. There was a large cat there—perhaps a mountain lion or something similar. It led me to a small pond filled with deep, dark-blue water.

I leaned over the water to see my reflection. But there was none. The pond was perhaps one and a half metres across. I straightened up, leaned over it again—and once more there was no reflection, no visible identity.

This was neither frightening nor unsettling. In a few weeks, I will leave behind the professional life that has shaped me for decades in order to devote myself to new projects. The absence of my reflection therefore did not feel like a loss, but rather a confirmation of what is already taking place.

I drifted on in that state. Looking back, I suspect it was a lucid dream, although I have very little experience with such dreams.

The following morning, the image of the pond would not leave me. I brought it back before my mind’s eye and once again imagined myself leaning over the water. Again, there was no reflection.

Then I began to experiment. One after another, I assumed different identities that are currently meaningful to me, repeating the same inner exercise each time.

First, I imagined myself as an executive coach—a role for which I have been formally trained. No reflection.

Then I saw myself as a philosopher contemplating truth, Being, and the Self. For the first time, a clearly defined silhouette appeared on the surface of the water.

Next, I assumed the identity of someone who accompanies others through profound existential transformations. Again, a reflection appeared—this time slightly more detailed and a little more distinct.

I repeated this inner experiment with several other possible identities. The outcome remained remarkably consistent.

Then a thought occurred to me. Perhaps this pond was not an ordinary pond at all, but a kind of space of communication between my temporal self and a higher, timeless Self. The surface of the water would then be the boundary—or interface—between the two, while the source of the pond lay within the eternal Self.

Whether this interpretation is true, I do not know. But I found it deeply compelling. And perhaps that was the real message of the dream