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.