Speculum Trinitatis

Vision becomes authentic when you are not limited to sight, but to the lucid understanding of what you are experiencing.

The desert presented me with a wild apparition. I remained motionless, like a tiny grain of sand, while the lynx's eyes stared into me. It was a gaze without blind intention, but full of meaning, which seemed to test the limits of my perception. He did not observe me, he contemplated me. In that immobility, time expanded, becoming an immense mirror, a space suspended between my breath and the beat of his heart. In an instant, reality unfolded into three transparent planes, like sheets of parchment superimposed over the fire of a hidden truth.

Every encounter has a sacred echo, a vibration that brings with it a silent recognition of an unseen plan. In the gaze of that animal there was no cruelty, no fear, but an ancient science of mutual gaze. I contemplated him, but he read me again and again, as if from the surface to the essence, like a scribe of nature, endowed with the power to read me and to transpose my story into the language of silence. After all, in a universe where silence has a voice, beings become the letters of a common prayer.

This is how it was meant to be. An unexpected encounter between two profound beings, sacred through the meeting of glances that understand each other beyond words, transforms consciousness into an altar where the viewer and the viewed become one prayer.

Leadership: Have you learned to see the world not with your eyes, but with that inner gaze that reads meanings in the absence of any articulate language?

I saw my reflection first. It was the outline of an almost translucent "I", a human shadow caught between two breaths. Then, beyond me, the desert appeared – the endless horizon of silence that contains me and loses me. And in the depths of my gaze, where light became form, a third plane appeared: a scheme of light, a living drawing of the "Divine". It was the moment when I understood that vision does not stop at mirroring, but opens inward, like a gateway to infinity.

The divine is not beyond us, but in the focused gaze that unites reality with spirit. In the lynx's eye, a complex map of meanings was born, and I was, simultaneously, the viewer, the altar, and the prayer.

"Whoever gazes too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back at him," said Nietzsche. But perhaps the abyss is nothing more than a form of light returning to the realm of consciousness. In the eyes of the lynx, the abyss was alive, a space inhabited by presence, not emptiness. It was as if his gaze had woven an invisible thread between us, a bridge of perception in which distance dissolved, thoughts ceased to exist, and only feeling mattered. So persistent, that gaze did not judge me, but recognized me. It did not analyze me, but accepted me.

The sacred is born from the reciprocity of a shared vibration through a gaze that does not seek to possess the external form of the other, but to recognize the depth of being beyond appearances. You begin to truly see when you let your consciousness interpret, not just your eyes perceive.

Leadership: To what extent does your perception succeed in uniting matter and spirit into a coherent visual composition, based on balance and continuity?

When the lynx fled, it did not take with it the mystery of our encounter. It left in me an echo-vision, Tyuterdor, designating an image that continues to vibrate even after the gaze has broken. In that echo I heard three distinct syllables – I, the World, the Divine – spoken as a single breath. It was a trinity not of religion, but of direct experience. His gaze had been an act of creation: he had redrawn me from the inside out, like a sculptor shaping his own meaning, so that for the first time I felt the unity between myself and a world that no longer excluded me, but contained me as a silent necessity.

The sacred encounter transforms consciousness into a living altar of Unity, where the viewer and the viewed become one prayer.

When you dissolve in the presence of the other without disappearing, you discover that separation is only an illusion of fear. I understood then that even in the animal world there is an alphabet, a subtle order of light. What we call instinct is, perhaps, a pure form of knowledge, untouched by doubt. The lynx did not ask me anything, but it gave me the answer: that between me, the world and the divine there is only a succession of mirrors, all emanating the same light. It is as if the entire universe had blinked with me, and that blink had become a wordless prayer. The only prayer is this mutual recognition that transcends words and unites beings beyond form.

Leadership: How do you integrate vision as a creative gesture in a framework where perception contributes to the reorganization of your inner balance, clarifying the relationship between contrast and harmony?

The sight of the lynx was an act of initiation. Not through fear, but through recognition. There, in the desert, I understood that light belongs not only to the sun, but also to the shadow that absorbs it. My being stretched between these two extremes, like a suspension bridge between sky and sand. In that balance I felt a subtle force – a lumisphere, a kind of inner space in which light takes the form of understanding.

Are you ready to become that gaze that cuts through appearances to reveal a vision? Can you tell the difference between a gaze that analyzes you and one that reveals you? What part of you fears a gaze that sees you completely?

When the echoes of the three words remained in me, I knew that I would never lose them again. They were like invisible steps towards a broader consciousness. Me – as the root. The world – as the trunk. The Divine – as a branch that reaches the sky. In every human being hides this secret arboreal reality, this game of mirrors between matter and spirit. And only in a universe where animals become mirrors of the soul, do you discover that the Divine is not outside, but in the gaze that greets it. And only this gaze, focused, is what unites the reality of spirit, and the spirit of God.

Leadership is manifested through the ability to see beyond the illusion of separation, to recognize in every glance a reflection of one's own inner universe.

The Speculum Trinitatis is the symbol of that living mirror that shows us that we are, at the same time, the seeker, the path of the search, and the destination. The lynx fled, but its gaze remained in me forever – three overlapping planes that remind me, in every moment of doubt, that I am never alone, never separate, never incomplete.

In the silence of the desert, I learned that every eye—whether human or animal—can become a window to God, if you know how to remain still enough to listen. And leadership also means accepting that the most profound lessons often come from unexpected sources of revelation, so that a lynx's gaze becomes more precious than a library of treatises.