02/23/2011

She is like a doll.

I see within her an aspect of my Anima. An abandon, a recklessness, a disregard for others, a willful debauchery. A mask perhaps of something, some potential, wonderful truth behind the sham of what others call beauty.

But I doubt that there is anything there at all. Like the doll, she makes us children wish she were alive, real. But she is just a plaything, a toy to be fondled by the foolish. She is the epitome of worthlessness.

But I doubt myself. I am too pessimistic. I assume the worst. Who am I to say what the core of her soul contains? I have no miraculous insight, no unique skill of perception. I think, I should inquire, I should explore, I should endeavor to comprehend. I should attempt to prove one way or the other, what she is.

But I know also what I am. I am not only this elect thing. I am not only this thing of value and of merit. I am not only this thing of substance and truth. Within me there is also what is without her. Within me is a beast, a primal, urging beast. Within me is the sum of all her faults and more. It leers at me as I contemplate myself. It whispers, "I am you." "I would rape, I would plunder, I would coerce and attain by force, I would assert my will with no regard for consequence, if only... if only you would but let me."