Not One of the Voices Was a Stranger

The first voice arrived on the fourth day of the meditation retreat.

The dog's name was Charlie.

I hadn't thought about Charlie in twenty years.

The second voice arrived the next morning.

You still blame yourself.

For what, it wouldn't say.

By the seventh day, there were dozens.

They knew things I'd forgotten.

You cried at his funeral.

You were relieved when she left.

You never forgave him.

When I told the teacher, he smiled and just said.

"Good."

By the ninth day, they talked over one another.

A frightened child.

An angry teenager.

A grieving husband.

A bitter old man.

The last one unsettled me.

I wasn't old.

Yet somehow, I recognized the voice.

By the final day, there were thousands.

Men.

Women.

Children.

People speaking languages I didn't know.

Yet every voice felt familiar.

I found the teacher before the closing meditation.

"What are they?"

Instead of answering, he handed me a mirror.

"Listen."

The bell rang, and for one perfect second, the voices disappeared.

Then a little boy began to cry.

A child's face appeared in the mirror.

A teenager laughed.

The child vanished.

An older face took his place.

An old man whispered something I couldn't understand.

Wrinkles spread across the reflection.

Then another face appeared.

Then another.

And another.

Thousands of them.

Changing with every voice.

All staring back at me.

The teacher stood behind me.

"Most people spend their lives believing they're a single person."

The voices swelled.

The faces kept changing.

Children.

Teenagers.

Women.

Old men.

Strangers.

Yet every face felt more familiar than my own.

The teacher smiled and said,

"Congratulations."

I opened my mouth to answer.

But I wasn't sure which one of us spoke.