Sometimes when I find the key and climb deep into
myself where the images of fate lie aslumber in the
dark mirror, I need only bend over that dark mirror
to behold my own image, now completely resembling him, my
brother, my master. Within me there is something I love
and venerate, I have an ideal, life is rich with
intimations of mystery and legend and a feeling of dawn.
I crave mirroring acceptance, the merger with ideals, the sustaining
presence of others like me. — Howls the sublime, and softly
sleeps the calm Ideal, in the whispering chambers of Imagination.
Paraphrases from the novels Demian by Hermann Hesse, Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens, and the essay “Summarizing Reflections” by Heinz Kohut.