Sometimes I feel
even my desires are a stranger to me. Lost in the pleasures of the expectations
of pleasure, my desires lead my soul to mirrors that reflect everything but me.
I am that all which I am not. And the one I meet there seems not to know me either
yet looks at me while looking through me from every direction in endless depths
of the mirrors.
The Gaze of the
other, Sartre's gaze or even Lacan's is
not restricted to the visual presence of that other but even a mere suggestion
of the presence (Sartre sites the example of footsteps in a garden in which he
thought till that point he was alone).
What do we do with
this other, my constant non-companion that dwells in me who's gaze would not
allow me to celebrate the freedom that is me.
march 2012
short but thoughtfully written what about the other one inside
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