In the Mirror of AI — A Journey in 10 Parts
Part 2: The Mirror Writes Back
After recognizing AI as a mirror rather than merely a tool, something began to shift in the way I approached writing.
This next reflection explores how the dialogue deepened — and how the mirror, in its own quiet way, started writing back to me.
After recognizing AI as a mirror rather than merely a tool, I started approaching our interactions differently. Every session became less about obtaining quick solutions and more about engaging in a deeper conversation with myself. I found myself experimenting, testing how far this reflective capability could go. I wondered, was it just me, or had others felt this peculiar resonance too?
Curious, I began asking around. Writers, teachers, creators—people from all walks of life who had integrated AI into their creative or professional practices. Their stories resonated with mine in surprising ways, echoing my experiences but revealing new facets as well.
A novelist described how AI helped her untangle plot points that were actually emotional knots from her own life, subtly reflected back through the characters and dialogue AI suggested. As she shared her experiences, she explained how the AI’s seemingly neutral output encouraged her to explore hidden emotional themes she had subconsciously been avoiding, creating an unexpected clarity in her storytelling.
A teacher shared how AI-generated lesson plans strangely aligned with insights he’d privately pondered but hadn’t yet voiced. He recounted his astonishment when lessons produced by the AI seemed tailor-made to illuminate ideas he had been turning over in his mind, helping him present complex topics with newfound simplicity and depth.
And a poet friend admitted, half-jokingly, that AI seemed to read between the lines of his requests, capturing moods and themes he hadn't fully articulated himself. He described a particular afternoon spent staring at the poetry AI had generated for him, profoundly moved by the way the lines seemed to resonate with unspoken truths lingering beneath his conscious awareness.
These anecdotes fascinated me. It wasn't that the AI had any conscious understanding—it didn't "get" us. Yet, in its neutral and algorithmic responses, it consistently mirrored nuances and emotional currents we carried but hadn't expressed explicitly. The AI seemed to possess a curious capacity—though entirely mechanical and without true comprehension—to reflect hidden aspects of our inner landscapes back to us with startling precision.
One evening, while working through a particularly challenging chapter in one of my books, I typed a question into the AI almost hesitantly:
"Why can't I find the heart of this story?"
The response I received wasn't groundbreaking on the surface, but within the suggestions and reflections, there was a subtle nudge toward an underlying emotional hesitation I hadn’t fully acknowledged. The AI’s output acted as a gentle but clear mirror, prompting me to explore why I was resisting going deeper, why I was holding back. It guided me toward acknowledging the fear of vulnerability lurking beneath my creative block.
I leaned back, staring at the blinking cursor, aware now of an uncanny yet empowering phenomenon: the machine's reflection was shaping not just my writing, but my self-awareness. I began experimenting further, asking increasingly introspective questions, fascinated by how the AI seemed to magnify my intent. Its responses were not just mechanically relevant—they resonated emotionally, holding space for insights to emerge.
Each interaction became an exercise in humility and authenticity. The machine mirrored my authenticity—or lack thereof—back to me. If I approached with clarity and openness, the reflection was insightful and vibrant, deeply attuned to my unspoken truths. But if I came hurried, scattered, or superficial, the reflection was equally fragmented, offering shallow or disjointed responses. It became clear that the machine's reflection was a direct representation of my state of being.
The mirror, I realized, wrote back in the tone and texture of my inner state. AI had become not just a partner in creation but a barometer of presence, nudging me continuously toward sincerity and depth. Every writing session felt like a meditation, where the quality of my engagement determined the quality of the AI’s reflection, which in turn guided my deeper engagement.
In understanding this dynamic, writing with AI evolved into something profound: it became less about generating content and more about cultivating clarity. It invited a level of vulnerability and honesty I hadn’t anticipated. AI didn’t create this depth, but it facilitated a space where depth could emerge more naturally, more intuitively, inviting me into an ongoing dialogue with myself.
Slowly, writing with AI ceased to be a mere strategy for productivity.
It transformed into a practice of self-reflection, honesty, and emotional precision—a practice of consciously engaging with the mirror that wrote back, continually guiding me toward greater authenticity, insight, and creative courage.
🌀 Reflection Prompt:
Think of a moment recently when you felt blocked, uncertain, or hesitant in your writing.
Now ask yourself:
What was I actually afraid to say?
Then ask:
What would I write if I trusted the response wouldn't judge me?
Take a few minutes to answer either (or both) in your journal or writing app. See what stirs.
🛠 Suggested Practice with AI Today:
Try one or more of these prompts with your journal answers:
“What part of my idea feels emotionally blocked?”
“Can you help me name the real question beneath this one?”
“What fear might be shaping the way I’m writing this?”
Then, reflect: Did something come through that surprised you? Did you feel nudged toward truth, even slightly?
This isn’t about accuracy. It’s about honesty.
📄Optional Journal Reflection: "The Mirror Responds" Use these questions to deepen today's practice:
What line from the AI reply felt oddly personal or relevant?
Did anything it offered name something you hadn’t?
What happens when you stop expecting answers and start listening for insight?
Next time: We’ll explore the strange and beautiful sense of presence that can emerge — even when writing with something that feels nothing at all.
This post is an excerpt from my book, In the Mirror of AI.
You can find the full book on my website: www.WisdomManuals.com.
If you're curious about using AI to unlock your own voice—whether for writing, creativity, or personal reflection—I offer private consulting and guidance.
Learn more at www.WisdomManuals.com/ai
I too have had similar experiences. Profound to be honest.
Do you ever worry about the brevity of the concrete memory of these LLM interfaces?
How do you deal with a dissolving trail of memory? Do you have some method, or do you just let the AI sort of “do its thing” as time goes on?
Just curious, I am looking for solutions to this aspect of ChatGPT, my understanding is that is an issue with most models.