Divided By Mirrors

I say:

"God meant you to be free.  He accepts you today, exactly as you are.  Be free! I want to see it."

And she hears:

"You live in bondage.  I disagree with you.  I reject you. You're not free."

I say:

"There's good stuff out there that God wants you to have.  There's a whole world of goodness out there for you to enjoy.  It's not all bad and dangerous."

And she hears:

 "I reject you just the way you are.  You don't have any good stuff. Get the kind of good stuff that I'd recognize.  There's seductive, dangerous stuff out there I think you need to try."

I say:

 "You and I are no different, anymore.  You're not part of a religious group that rejects me anymore. We're just Christians now."

And she hears:

 "Your religion isn't good enough, anymore. I rejoice that it let you down just as I predicted.  Try mine."

I say:

 "We can talk.  Really talk.  I want to know you."

And she hears:

 "I want to nose into your business and try to fix you, so you're more how I think you should be."

I swear we're not failing to deal with each other so much as
we're repeatedly refusing to have a fistfight with ourselves in a mirror,
in which everything we see and say is the same,
only backwards.
We're trying to give up the attempt to make that reflection of ourselves
flip around to face the right way,
to point accusingly with the right hand,
to part the hair on the right side.

It seems we can't see or hear anything that isn't a reflection of something in us.
Everything else gets edited away.
Not one new word of thought or feeling can be added to the dynamic.
It's just reflections of our own stuff.

We are divided by mirrors.

My mother and I.