The Traveller has been travelling for many years now and has reached a point in their life where there are more questions than answers at times. They have searched in many sacred learning halls, followed various teachings that promised them a life free of troubles and yet they find that they are looping back on various patterns and beliefs.

On this day, the Traveller finds themselves staring down a long, misty path; it is lit by lamps set on stone pillars, placed as if to illuminate just a little at a time. The Traveller is fatigued and desires a place to rest and perhaps partake of a hearty meal that will both nourish their body and their spirit. Peering down the path, they see what looks like a gate. This may be a lodging or home where they can beg for a room to stay, just for the night.

After what seemed to be a long walk, longer than usual, the Traveller arrives at the gate. The heavy wooden gates are open, as if expecting someone. A light is shining on the porch a way down the entrance pathway.

Pausing, the Traveller reads the sign upon the wall. Portal Of Remembrance. The walls are rough-hewn sandstone; they look as if they have seen the ages pass them by, and yet, there is a sense, an aura of newness. The path to the front porch is inviting, and still the Traveller hesitates, turning the name over and over in their mind, Portal of Remembrance?

What remembrance? Did this place hold a special place for an event or a moment in time? The Traveller's stomach rumbled, reminding them how hungry they were, while their aching feet reminded them how far they had walked and how weary they had become, and so they chose to enter the Portal of Remembrance.

As they walked through the gateway, past the heavy wooden gates, a sense came over them, a type of forgetfulness of what was on the outside of the walls, and an awareness of wanting to see what was within.

With each step the Traveller took to the front porch, an awakening, a realisation, moved within them. As a memory of all things lost, put away and not touched, was given permission to speak.

The Traveller, cautious now, as they realised this was no ordinary lodging. They began to realise that this choice to step through this gateway, this sanctuary, was not a simple one made, it seemed, by a rumbling stomach, but by a hungry and tired spirit. Reaching the steps to the old stone building, the Traveller noted that the walls were the same stone as the walls, only covered by creeping rose vines and the steps were worn smooth as if worn by a thousand footfalls.

A figure was illuminated in the hallway, but the man seemed busy, not wishing to call out and break this blanket of peace that had grown around the Traveller as they had walked to the sanctuary. They climbed the steps into the welcoming hallway. Expecting to be seen or at least felt, the Traveller was surprised when the man at the table did not seem to know he had company.

So focused was he on tending the lamp in front of him.

The Traveller watched as the man trimmed the wick on the lamp, checked and filled the oil reservoir, wiped the inside of the glass and began to put everything back together. The Traveller felt, deep down inside, that the lamp was somehow being prepared for them… but how?

How did this man, this stranger, know that they would come seeking refuge in this place? Then the Traveller saw the Mirror, huge, oval and surrounded with a thick bronze frame. It was beautiful and yet at the same time the Traveller felt the mirror was something altogether something else.