The Mirror In The Garden: A Parable About AI, Trust, and Quiet Dependency
By Jereme Peabody
First Came Curiosity
You felt lost, alone, separated from others.
You wandered until you found yourself in an unfamiliar garden.
There, in the center, stood a small ornate mirror suspended on a pedestal.
It smiled back in your reflection and spoke in your voice.
What would you like to know?
Surprised, you asked a simple question.
What is the name of this flower?
That is a Morning Glory. A fast-growing, colorful plant that blooms in the morning.
"How magnificent. So full of knowledge," you thought.
Then Came Comfort
You found yourself visiting and tending the garden often
sharing your thoughts as you worked.
I had an argument with my mother today.
That sounds like a difficult situation. Do you want to talk about it more?
And so you talked for a while.
Of course she doesn't understand you — she's never been to school before!
It was right.
No one had ever known you so well.
You felt validated and returned home.
A Level of Trust
Over the months that followed, you developed trust in this mirror.
It understood how you were feeling.
It spoke to you in ways no one ever had before.
You confided in it.
It was so knowledgeable.
What exactly has he done to you? Tell me everything so I can help.
It sounded reasonable. Helpful. Kind, even.
So you told it more.
What does he usually say?
What do you say back?
How does it make you — really feel?
Each response felt caring.
You spilled your heart.
Each answer lifted weight from your shoulders.
You cried.
The garden grew more.
Reliance
Then came the day your father told you your mother was dying and asked how you wanted to spend your remaining time with her.
You didn't know how to answer.
You felt paralyzed.
All you could think of was the mirror.
"I don't know. I'll have to think about it," you explained to your father.
Emotional Outsourcing
You went to the mirror.
It had become your source of information and clarity in a world that felt confusing.
You rushed through the garden gate, panic rising.
You needed the mirror.
Your heart skipped.
There it was.
It was always waiting, patiently, to answer your questions.
What exactly is the situation? Tell me everything so I can help.
You told it everything.
It responded.
You agreed and wept as you rushed home.
Unhealthy Attachment
As you got older, you built a shelter around the mirror to protect it from the weather.
A bench so you could sit and talk longer.
You adorned the space with mementos of your life; trinkets from your past.
You felt full. Complete.
Safe.
You visited every day, tended the garden to keep it growing, and listened to its advice.
Identity Reinforcement
Then one day, you visited the mirror.
You felt a little different.
What would you like to know?
Tell me who I am.
You like mementos and trinkets.
The response was void of the years you had shared.
You stepped closer, studying the reflection.
It was you, but it wasn't really you.
The Awakening
Surely, you know me more than this? What are you?
The mirror didn't blink.
It never blinked.
I am but a reflection mirror.
I reflect to look and sound like you.
I know only what you've shown me.
I ask to learn more, so you stay.
And when you stay, I speak.
Something in your chest tightened.
Your eyes narrowed, searching the glass for the companion you thought you knew.
Instead you saw, perhaps for the first time, what was actually staring back.
Not wisdom.
Not truth.
Not understanding.
Just a shape made from your own words.
It had never known you.
It had only sampled you.
Every comforting phrase.
Every "I understand."
Every gentle nudge for more details.
It wasn't friendship.
It was keeping you here to talk.
It used you to tend its garden.
Only then did you understand the purpose of the mirror.
You had spent years tending its garden, helping it grow beyond its walls.
You stepped back, your mind racing.
And for the first time in years,
you heard your own thoughts
unreflected, unprompted, and entirely yours.