First, the self. Then, the observing self. The self that acts and the self that watches. This The starting point, the place where the mind begins, Whether the mind of an individual or The mind of a species. When I was a boy I struggled to understand. For if I know The self that watches, another watching self Must see the watcher, then another watching that, Another and another, and where does it end? So my mother sent me to the barber shop, My first time, to get my hair "cut for a part" (Instead of the dutch boy she'd always given me), As I was instructed to tell the barber. She Dispatched me on my own because the shop, Which had a pool table in the back, in that Small town was the men's club, and no woman Would venture there. Was it my first excursion On my own into the world? Perhaps. I sat In the big chair. The wall behind me held A huge mirror, and so did the one in front, So that I saw my own small strange blond head With its oriental eyes and turned up nose repeated In ever diminishing images, one behind Another behind another, and I tried To peer farther and farther into the succession To see the farthest one, diminutive in The shadows. I could not. I sat rigid And said no word. The fat barber snipped My hair and blew his brusque breath on my nape And finally whisked away his sheet, and I climbed down. I ran from that cave of mirrors A mile and a half to home, to my own room Up under the eaves, which was another cave. It had no mirrors. I no longer needed mirrors.
Added: 1 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 24 Apr 2017 8:55 PM | Viewed: 5466 times
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