I was just a servant's son, no one of importance. In the kingdom of Benares, where the grand palace looked down on the river like a gilded bird, I swept floors and fetched water. But one day, I saw something that changed me so deeply that I no longer see the world the same way. It was the day the Mirror Sage came.
People called him Bhodhi Rishi, a holy man who had wandered from far-off lands. He carried no belongings except a single, polished bronze mirror that he treated not as a tool, but like a treasure of deep wisdom. Rumors spread quickly through alleyways and market stalls — this sage could show you your true self through the mirror. Some laughed. Others feared it.
I saw him first in the marketplace. A shy boy, I watched from behind the sari stall as Bhodhi Rishi sat cross-legged beneath a banyan tree. He invited all — beggars, soldiers, even palace monks — to look into the mirror.
One by one, they came forward. Some smiled as if they finally saw something beautiful. Others wept. A few turned away quickly, refusing to look longer.
I must have stared too long, because he called out, “Young one, would you look at yourself?”
I felt my heart beat in my ears. What would I see? A poor servant boy—not worth the glance of a king?
Still, I approached him. He said nothing as he held the bronze mirror to my face. I expected to see only my reflection.
Instead, I saw... emptiness.
Not blankness—but vast space. Quiet. Peaceful. There was no “me,” no “I,” only clear stillness, as if the world and I had been washed clean.
Shaken, I looked to the sage. “What does it mean?” I whispered.
He smiled gently. “This is the Mirror Mind,” he said. “When you let go of clinging—of who you think you are—compassion awakens. Emptiness is not a void. It is a gift.”
“But I’m just... ordinary,” I said.
He placed the mirror in my hands. “That is the Way.”
Later, I learned the Buddha, long before he became the Enlightened One, once lived a life like Bhodhi Rishi. It was told in the Jataka Tales—ancient stories of the Buddha’s past lives. In one tale, he was a sage who taught a king the truth of the Middle Way: neither indulging in riches nor denying life completely, but living with balance and awareness.
That day, kneeling under the banyan tree, I understood something I had never known: I didn’t need to become someone else. In the mirror, I was already everything I needed to be if I could just let go.
From that day, I served not with shame, but with joy. I helped others, listened more, and spoke kinder words. Like the sage taught, I practiced walking the Middle Way — not too fast, not too slow. Just mindful steps forward.
And though my hands still carried buckets, my heart carried clarity.
Looking back now, I see that the greatest transformation didn’t come from becoming someone new, but from letting go of who I thought I had to be.
That was the day the Mirror Mind changed everything.
I was just a servant's son, no one of importance. In the kingdom of Benares, where the grand palace looked down on the river like a gilded bird, I swept floors and fetched water. But one day, I saw something that changed me so deeply that I no longer see the world the same way. It was the day the Mirror Sage came.
People called him Bhodhi Rishi, a holy man who had wandered from far-off lands. He carried no belongings except a single, polished bronze mirror that he treated not as a tool, but like a treasure of deep wisdom. Rumors spread quickly through alleyways and market stalls — this sage could show you your true self through the mirror. Some laughed. Others feared it.
I saw him first in the marketplace. A shy boy, I watched from behind the sari stall as Bhodhi Rishi sat cross-legged beneath a banyan tree. He invited all — beggars, soldiers, even palace monks — to look into the mirror.
One by one, they came forward. Some smiled as if they finally saw something beautiful. Others wept. A few turned away quickly, refusing to look longer.
I must have stared too long, because he called out, “Young one, would you look at yourself?”
I felt my heart beat in my ears. What would I see? A poor servant boy—not worth the glance of a king?
Still, I approached him. He said nothing as he held the bronze mirror to my face. I expected to see only my reflection.
Instead, I saw... emptiness.
Not blankness—but vast space. Quiet. Peaceful. There was no “me,” no “I,” only clear stillness, as if the world and I had been washed clean.
Shaken, I looked to the sage. “What does it mean?” I whispered.
He smiled gently. “This is the Mirror Mind,” he said. “When you let go of clinging—of who you think you are—compassion awakens. Emptiness is not a void. It is a gift.”
“But I’m just... ordinary,” I said.
He placed the mirror in my hands. “That is the Way.”
Later, I learned the Buddha, long before he became the Enlightened One, once lived a life like Bhodhi Rishi. It was told in the Jataka Tales—ancient stories of the Buddha’s past lives. In one tale, he was a sage who taught a king the truth of the Middle Way: neither indulging in riches nor denying life completely, but living with balance and awareness.
That day, kneeling under the banyan tree, I understood something I had never known: I didn’t need to become someone else. In the mirror, I was already everything I needed to be if I could just let go.
From that day, I served not with shame, but with joy. I helped others, listened more, and spoke kinder words. Like the sage taught, I practiced walking the Middle Way — not too fast, not too slow. Just mindful steps forward.
And though my hands still carried buckets, my heart carried clarity.
Looking back now, I see that the greatest transformation didn’t come from becoming someone new, but from letting go of who I thought I had to be.
That was the day the Mirror Mind changed everything.
