Tag: sacred storytelling

A contemplative reimagining of the myth of Narcissus—not as a tale of vanity, but as a mystical journey into stillness, self-surrender, and divine reflection. What if the pool wasn’t a trap, but a mirror of the infinite?

In the myth’s oldest forms, Narcissus was a young man of astonishing beauty. So beautiful that all who saw him fell in love—but he turned them away, untouched, unreachable. One day, the gods—or perhaps Fate—led him to a quiet, still pool. And there, for the first time, he saw his own reflection.

And he stopped.

He gazed into the water, mesmerized. Some say he fell in love with his image, not knowing it was his own. Others say he did know—and still, he could not look away. In either case, he became entranced, absorbed… undone.

Traditionally, the tale is told as a warning—about vanity, self-absorption, the tragic cost of loving only oneself.

But perhaps there is another way to see it.
A deeper reading.

Perhaps Narcissus did not fall in love with himself as ego,
but rather—he glimpsed, maybe for the first time,
the divine image reflected in his being.
And in that moment, he became still.
He ceased striving.
He entered
bittul—the quiet undoing of the small self,
and hitbonenut—the deep contemplation,
not of form, but of essence.

The water did not deceive him.
It revealed him.
Not the personality, but the spark behind the eyes.

And so, he sat.
And sat.
And dissolved.

Maybe he didn’t waste away.
Maybe he woke up.
And in becoming the flower,
he joined the earth, the sky, the unseen rhythm of becoming.
Not lost in self-love,
but reunited with the Self beyond all selves.

Maybe Narcissus wasn’t a warning.
Maybe he was a mystic.
And the pool?
Not a trap—
but a mirror of the infinite.

So yes.
Let us sit by that still water.
Let us gaze, not with longing, but with love.
Let us be undone,
not by illusion,
but by truth.

And may the flower that blooms from our surrender
be fragrant with remembrance.

🙏🕊🙏