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.

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Paraphrases from the novels Demian by Hermann Hesse, Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens, and the essay “Summarizing Reflections” by Heinz Kohut.

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