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The Haze of the Looking Glass
Glancing at my reflection, I saw not myself, but that which wasn’t me. It was something I didn’t care to see.
I felt like Narcissus staring at my reflection. I admit, I stood in the middle of the sidewalk, and was an obstruction to others, but were they not an obstruction to me? Had they not always been? After all, I was just gazing at my reflection in a store front window.
The window wasn’t particularly clean. The smokey-edged haze returned an unfocused or diffused image. Is that what I was, an unfocused or diffused image? This was a window on the Passeig de Gracia in Barcelona that reflected a hundred thousand souls daily. I wondered if they were all equally diffused or if they wanted to be? I squinted and imagined a vision of Carl Jung.
I am not a Jungian disciple, not educated in the realms of psychology. I was trained in the theater, in performance. (I am not convinced that on many levels, there exists any pronounced difference between the two fields).
Back to the dirty window of revelation, sorry, reflection. “Freudian slip”
As the hordes of purchase-starved shoppers passed, all in search of some consumption, some…