Scene 5
The Mirror of Reflection
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Setting: The celestial chamber remains dimly lit, the golden glow pulsing faintly. The walls ripple with fleeting images of gods and goddesses, their forms dissolving into indistinct light. Freud, Eliade, and Jay stand apart, each lost in their thoughts, the weight of their unresolved arguments hanging heavily in the air.​
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Angel 1: (Looking at them, voice calm but firm) You have debated endlessly, yet
you remain divided. God has heard your words and your silence. The divine has
decreed that you must now confront the essence of your work—not through
theory, but through reflection.
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Freud: (Adjusting his glasses, skeptical) Confront ourselves? Another abstract
challenge? What form will this confrontation take?
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Angel 2: (With a faint smile) A mirror.
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Jay: (Frowning) A mirror? Is this another metaphor?
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Angel 1: (Shaking their head) No. God is sending you a mirror—not of glass, but of truth. Behold.
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(A figure steps forward from the shadows, an ordinary human dressed simply, with no ethereal glow or commanding presence. It is the Reader, the embodiment of those who have studied their works.)
Reader: (Looking at them with steady eyes) I am the mirror. I am your reader, your student, the one who sought answers in your words. And yet, you never thought of me.
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Freud: (Taken aback) A reader? How is this possible? This is a sacred arena for scholars. What significance could you bring to our discourse?
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Eliade: (Frowning, curious) This is a place for seekers of truth, not the ordinary. Who are you?
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Freud: (Sneering slightly) What authority do you have to judge us?
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Reader: (Stepping closer, unshaken) Authority? None. But impact? Tremendous. I am your Reader. I am the one who wrestled with your works, sought answers in your theories, and built my understanding of life and the divine upon your shoulders. Yet, I come not to praise you, but to ask the questions you left unanswered.
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(Reader turn to Freud, addressing him with calm intensity.)
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Reader: Dr. Freud, your work was monumental. You unraveled the subconscious, giving humanity tools to face its fears, its guilt, its repressed traumas. You helped me see the mind as a complex, layered entity. But why, why, why did you stop there? Is a human being nothing more than a chemical reaction, a tangled mass of desires and fears? What of the transcendent? Your theories gave me insight but left no room for the divine spark. You dismantled faith but never imagined what might rise in its place.
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Freud: (Hesitant) My aim was to explain, not to inspire.
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Reader: (Sternly) And in explaining, you denied. Your words reached those at their most vulnerable, but instead of offering light, you shrouded the sacred in shadows of guilt and repression.
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(The reader turns to Jay, with a sharpened tone.)
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Reader: Professor Jay, your work revealed the intricate power dynamics of sacrifice—the way it often becomes a tool of exclusion, a ritualized assertion of control. But sacrifice, at its heart, carries an unsettling paradox. It’s imbued with the idea of doing something extraordinary, of giving up what one doesn’t owe. Yet isn’t the greater truth simpler and more profound? We must act not out of obligation or a need to transcend ourselves but because the moment itself calls for the right action. Sacrifice, as you describe, often carries an implicit transaction—a sense of doing what’s unnecessary for the sake of another. But what if true connection lies in the absence of such calculation? What if the sacred is not found in sacrifice but in the quiet, unspoken love that moves us to act purely because it is right? You stripped away the veil of ritual but, in doing so, left us yearning for a vision of love and meaning to take its place.
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Jay: (Defensive, her voice edged with frustration) My work was never about prescribing love—it was about unmasking the systems of power that cloak themselves in it.
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Reader: (Resolutely, with gentle authority) And you did so with precision, but love and power cannot be separated. Without love, the act of sacrifice remains hollow—a structure of power stripped of its soul. You illuminated the machinery of oppression, but what we needed was a glimpse of how to rebuild, how to fill the emptiness with something sacred and whole. You showed us the flaws but didn’t offer us a way to rise beyond them. And that is the burden you must now confront.
(The reader turns to Eliade, an expression of respect softening the face.)
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Reader: Professor Eliade, I admire you the most. Your work helped us see religion as a profound dimension of human existence, a sacred realm where symbols and rituals connect us to the eternal. You encouraged us to appreciate the sacred as a reality beyond the mundane. But you failed to show us how to bring the sacred into the ordinary. How do we transform daily life into something imbued with the sacred?
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Eliade: (Pensively) My aim was to inspire reverence for the sacred, not to trivialize it with the mundane.
Reader: (With gentle conviction) And yet, the sacred is only meaningful when it touches the lives of ordinary people. Without that connection, it remains an abstraction.
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(Freud, Eliade, and Jay stand apart, each lost in thought, the weight of their unresolved arguments hanging heavily in the air. The ANGELS stand motionless in the background, their expressions serene yet watchful.)
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Jay: (Stepping forward, a commanding presence.) How are we supposed to confront God? What should we do to make Him happy? Ask forgiveness? Give our blood?
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Reader: (Smiling gently.) Calm down. First, understand who God is. He is beyond physical. Like William James said, "Man's extremity is God's opportunity" (Pals, 2009, pg. 181) encapsulating the essence of religious transformation—emphasizing how extreme personal crises can serve as a profound catalyst for change.
(The Reader pauses, a reflective expression crossing the face, as the others listen intently, the weight of the moment settling over the group.)
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Reader: Despite all your scholarship and intellectual pursuits, I doubt you’ve ever heard of Rumi, Iqbal, or Bulleh Shah. These were seekers of the divine, whose words carry the weight of centuries, yet their wisdom is rarely acknowledged in circles like yours. Why is it that the sacred truths they uncovered through poetry and devotion don’t command the same respect as your theories?
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(The Reader’s gaze sharpens, letting the challenge linger before continuing, the tone shifts to one of reverence as Rumi is introduced.)
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Reader: As Moulana Rumi beautifully observes (in Farsi, Translation) "The wound is the place where the light enters you," (Barcelona, 2017), suggesting that deep struggles can lead to both psychological reorientation and spiritual awakening. True transformation requires looking inward, as the outer world is merely an illusion—a reflection of one's inner state.
(The Reader’s voice softens while continuing, the gaze shifting between the others.)
Once an individual discovers the divine within, their perception of the world transforms. This inner journey cannot be substituted with artificial means; it requires reaching rock bottom, where the ego is dismantled, and all external dependencies are stripped away. Only in that vulnerable state can one genuinely encounter God.
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(The figures exchange glances, absorbing the depth of the words, as a subtle glow begins to illuminate the chamber.)
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Reader: As Muhammad Iqbal said (in Urdu, Translation) "Do not keep it safe and sheltered, for your mirror is such a mirror that when shattered, it becomes dearer in the eyes of the one who makes mirrors" (Goodreads, 2017).
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(The Reader steps closer, with a tone carrying quiet intensity.)
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This couplet reflects Iqbal's philosophical depth, emphasizing the value of resilience and transformation. The "mirror" symbolizes the self or soul, and its "shattering" implies trials, hardships, or failures, which enhance one's worth in the Creator’s eyes by fostering growth inwardly.
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(A faint hum fills the air as if the words themselves resonate within the chamber.)
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Reader: As Bulleh Shah said (in Punjabi, Translation) "Destroy the mosque, destroy the temple, destroy whatever you want, but never break someone's heart, for God resides in hearts" (Smith, 2014).
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(The chamber grows warmer, as if Bulleh Shah’s words bring a newfound sense of harmony to the space.)
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Reader: Bulleh Shah emphasizes that the sacred is not confined to external religious practices or structures. The true experience of the sacred is internal and personal, often rooted in the human heart and soul. It’s this intimate encounter with the divine that makes one genuinely religious, transcending outward rituals and embracing a deeper spiritual truth.
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(Freud, Jay, and Eliade sit motionless, their eyes fixed on the Reader, mesmerized by the words. It is as though they no longer notice one another’s presence, each lost in a deep, personal connection to the sacred truths unfolding before them.)
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(Reader extends a hand, offering an invitation to the others to come closer.)
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Reader: (Speaks with serene conviction, eyes alight with inner clarity.) He is an ocean, and we are the pure drops of water. Just come and hold my hands—together, we become one with Him, becoming a part of that infinite ocean.
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(As the four figures—Freud, Jay, Eliade, and the Reader—look at one another, a quiet understanding passes between them. Slowly, they reach out, their hands meeting in the center of the room. A soft gong echoes, reverberating through the celestial chamber. The golden light above begins to dissolve, and the roof opens to reveal a sky infinite and alive with shimmering rain.)
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(The rain begins to fall gently, each droplet glowing as it touches their skin. The water pools around their feet, rising steadily, but instead of panic, a serene calm envelops them. They float effortlessly as the water rises, its touch is neither cold nor warm but perfectly comforting, embracing, dissolving every barrier between them and the divine.)
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(Their bodies soften, the boundaries of their forms melting into the water. They float higher, lighter, and gently melting until they are no longer bound by the physical. What remains is essence—pure, radiant, infinite. They merge seamlessly into the endless expanse, becoming one with the presence they spent their lives seeking, questioning, and longing for.)
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(The chamber fades into the infinite, and a voice—gentle, all-encompassing—whispers:)
"You have returned. And now, you are whole."
(The stage dims, leaving only the sound of the rain, soft and eternal.)
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