Legend has it that there’s something quite mystical to be found in these woods. A something which is perhaps not even some thing at all. You’ve heard it described before as a glassless mirror, clearer than the clearest lake; a window into every beauty one could ever wish to grace their view. And as the legend goes, those who encounter this mystical vision bear witness to that most elusive insight of all: their own true nature.
As the dirt path crunches beneath your feet you survey the forest with vigilant eyes. With your head at the mount your neck pans left and your neck pans right. From the sturdy perch atop your shoulders, you remain on the lookout for a glimpse of this mystical vision.
High noon comes and high noon goes. You scan over the conifer trees, the blueberry bushes, even up through the canopy at the drifting clouds above, but there seems to be no sign of this mystical vision and no clues to point you in its direction. There is only ordinariness — the ordinary things out there beyond the boundary of your eyes, and the ordinary you, here alone keeping watch behind the fleshy perimeter of your face. Thoughts of frustration begin to boil inside your head. It’s been hours now and you have no greater clarity into your true nature.
But just as you consider turning back around, you catch sight of something dart across the path in front of you, small and light-footed, ending up behind a tree trunk up ahead out of view.
“Is someone there?” you call out.
A small, furry head furtively emerges from behind the tree trunk.
“Come out now, no need to hide,” you coax.
And so, the little creature slowly pads out from behind the tree with a red bushy tail in tow. Flanked by forest on either side, you and the fox now stand across from each other on the woodland path.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, wayfarer. May I ask what you’re doing in these woods?” the fox asks pleasantly as he settles back onto his haunches.
“Well-met, little fox. I’m here in search of a mystical vision. I’ve been led to believe that something of breathtaking glory occupies these woods.”
A mischievous grin slides across the fox’s face. “Hmm, I see…” he says. “You must be speaking of the glassless mirror?”
“Yes, yes, that’s the one!” you exclaim.
“Clearer than the clearest lake?”
“That’s precisely what I’ve heard!”
“A window into every beauty one could ever wish to grace their view? The chance to witness one’s true nature?” he asks with a wry raise of his brow.
“Oh, little fox, you must surely know of what I’m seeking!”
“I surely do, wayfarer!” the fox gushes. “And what great fortune it is for you that our paths have crossed, as I can lead you to this vision.”
“Oh, what great fortune it is for me indeed, little fox. I’ve been seeking this vision out for hours now. How tired I’ve grown from my quest! If only I could be shown this most mystical vision, then I could happily return home with my curiosity laid to rest and my hungry soul gratified.”
“How lovely that would be, wayfarer,” the fox says with a hint of contempt at the edges of his words. “There is one question though that you must answer me before I lead you to this mystical vision and deliver you to your true nature. And you must answer it honestly, wayfarer. If I’m dissatisfied with the truthfulness of your answer then I will leave you to continue your search alone.”
You place your hand over your heart. “Little fox, I assure you, I will respond with only my most honest answer to whatever question you ask, however personal.”
“A simple question, but a personal one it is indeed,” the fox says with a snigger. “Well, here it is then: what, wayfarer, does your smile look like to you?”
You think for a moment… What a trivial and harmless question. What a small price of admission to pay for deliverance to this most mystical vision.
“Well, that’s easy!” you exclaim assuredly. “The same as it looks to everybody else!”
Your exuberance is met with an unimpressed look of agitation from the fox, his eyelids now hanging low like half-drawn shades. “Go on, wayfarer… in greater detail.”
“Well, look little fox, it’s right here on my face,” you say as you press a forced smile into your cheeks. “See? This is what my smile looks like. I bend my lips up a little at their corners. I bare my upper row of teeth. I scrunch my face a bit and squint my eyes… and… well, that’s all there is to it!”
“That is what your smile looks like… to you?” the fox probes.
“Well, yes, that is what my smile looks like to everybody, little fox.”
With a contemptuous sigh, the fox gets up off his haunches to leave. “I’m sorry wayfarer, but that answer won’t do. You’re lying. That cannot possibly be what your smile looks like to you.”
“Wait!” you protest. “I’m telling the truth. I know this to be what my smile looks like with utter certainty! If anything, you are the liar, little fox — you can see with your own two eyes that my smile is exactly as I described it!”
“How would you know your smile to look like this, wayfarer? What nonsense. Teeth? Cheeks? Lips? These are the features of your face and you can’t see your own face.” He shakes his head in annoyance and then stretches his furry hind legs in preparation for departure.
Your hopes of ever seeing the mystical vision are quickly slipping away from you now.
As the fox turns and begins to slowly pad off down the path, you anxiously pat down your person searching for a pocket mirror or a watch with a glass face — anything reflective that could corroborate your description and prove the fox a cheat — but you find no such possession.
“This is a sham, little fox!” you call out, your fists balled in indignation, but the scarlet critter pays you no mind as he saunters further away down the path. “What cruel trickery this is,” you grumble to yourself. “No one can see their own face. No one can see their own smile. The question isn’t right.”
The fox stops.
Craning his neck back to face you, he offers his final word: “I know you can’t see your own face, wayfarer. Among the two of us of here I’m the only one that can. But you chose to describe your smile in terms of the shape it takes on your face; the one way your smile cannot possibly appear to you. As I cautioned, I accept only the most honest answers. No confabulations are permitted.”
Your balled fists loosen and you tilt your head in confusion.
“I asked the right question, wayfarer,” the fox relents with a sigh of magnanimity. “But your answer was backwards, you see? You offered a description of what your smile looks like to me. I asked, ‘what does your smile look like to you?’”
And then with a twinkle in his eye the fox springs off the path and into the forest, his red bushy tail the last of him to disappear into the foliage.
You stand there alone for some time — puzzled, forlorn, and sore from your journey — trying to make sense of the fox’s words. As the sun begins its descent, the woodland shadows grow longer and longer across the forest floor until you finally surrender to your own confusion. That knavish fox has disappeared for good, and along with him it seems your chance of ever seeing the mystical vision.
But as you make your way back home, for a short while your thoughts drift away from your failed quest. The aching curiosity you came to these woods to resolve gently fades on its own. You are taken in now by the dusky evening light glowing a gorgeous verdant orange on the trees and bushes around you. The whole marvelous scene appears to you now as if through a glassless mirror, clearer than the clearest lake. And as you look up through the canopy at the riot of colors painting the twilight sky, there is no barrier left between you and the purples and pinks and reds of overwhelming beauty. And so, a smile unwittingly overtakes your face — a smile to which you’re blissfully blind, on a face entirely absent from the picture — as all you’re gazing into now is your true nature.
