The Image

Upon arising each morning I drink a quart of strong coffee, log onto Rense.com, smoke three full-strength cigarettes and then visit the bathroom. Before answering the call of nature I do something else: something I have done without fail every morning for as long as I can remember.

I look in the mirror.

Why do we do that? What purpose does it serve, even before we are properly showered and ready for the day? Are we instinctively afraid that, following some eight hours of unconscious detachment from our physical bodies, we will wake up to find ourselves not the people we thought we were?

I am reflected, therefore I am. The mirror, no matter how unflattering, never lies. We trust it to tell us the truth about what we look like. It provides us with an instant reality check.

But does it tell us who we really are?

Be honest. Have you never stared searchingly into a mirror and asked yourself: Who am I? Millions of people do this every day, even though they may not be aware of it. The question is addressed not to a piece of glass, but to the very image they see reflected back at them.

What is that image? It surely cannot be the face reflected, for flesh and blood doth not an answer give. The image you are trying to address is at the same time staring back at you, yet it is somehow not to be seen or understood with your very own eyes. It is eternal and annoyingly elusive, no matter how you attempt to catch it with a squint or a trick of the light.

It may not register at an intellectual level, but you intuitively know somewhere deep down inside that the image you seek holds the key to the mysteries of life. The image has the power to heal and remake the world within which you live.

It was in this image that you were made.

And every time you visit the bathroom in the morning, your prenatal memory reminds you that this image is still somehow a part of you, but can no longer be seen in the way it once was. There is a disconnect; and in your sleep you became more aware of that state of separation, subconsciously trying to bridge the gap and find your way home.

But by night and by day, there are forces at work to ensure that you fail.

They will do anything – absolutely anything – to prevent your being remade in that image. They will bombard you with cheap distractions, assail you constantly with the Neanderthal chimes of radio, hypnotise you with delta-wave trash television, harangue you with propaganda and fake news, assault your sensibilities with brazen and subliminal pornography, beleaguer you with fear-mongering lies, patronize you with threadbare political deceptions, insult your intelligence with vacuous advertising and overwhelm you in a never-ending flood of commercial trivia and meaningless information.

They will even procure wars on false premises, create natural catastrophes, unleash infectious diseases, manufacture social emergencies, promote chaos, wreak economic crises and stage acts of masterfully choreographed terrorism to keep you fearful, confused, angry, exhausted and forever discombobulated.

For the image they have in mind for you is quite a different one. It is what they want you to become in your entirety, so that when you look in the mirror each morning it is indeed all you can see. Weary bones dressed in mortal flesh: scammed, terrorized, exploited, deceived, taxed, pauperised, monitored, surveilled, drugged and hopelessly controlled.

The image of a beast.

“And this,” they will tell you, “is God.”

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Michael James is a British freelance translator and journalist, resident in Germany for almost thirteen years. Permission is freely granted to those who wish to re-publish this article without alteration in any format.

Mike James

Mike James, an Englishman, is a former freelance journalist resident in Germany since 1992 with additional long-haul stays in East Africa, Poland and Switzerland