In the dream, I am looking into a mirror. I am looking for another face than the familiar one that gazes back out at me. So I adjust the angle, and forbidding eyes stare at me out of the stern, drawn face of what appears to be an Oriental lady in her fifties. I don’t like that, so I change the angle again. Now I see a thin, delicate, androgynous adolescent face, again with Kirghiz eyes, apparently absorbed in contemplation. I bring the mirror back to its original position and am relieved to see my own familiar friendly face again, although I recognize that it and the other two have features in common.
Whose face was I seeking? Perhaps I expected, like Novalis’ Disciple of Sa