As I finish packing, many thoughts and images cross through my mind, past and future. And one from the present: dismayed horror at my clothes – do I really look that shabby, that dull?
But I suppose I haven't much liked the way I dress, or the way I look, for about six years – since, in fact, about the time of Australia. Ah well; to be expected I suppose.
And some amusement at my own choices: four books, two for the Jung seminars, plus Banks' Matter (mentioned before), and – this is the one that is a bit over the top – Steppenwolf. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know: clichés of German culture, personal development (isn't it a weird kind of Bildungsroman?), and Jung and mysticism and meaning and the Alps and....
But of the various questions that float up and disintegrate, one stands out: am I fleeing, or going towards?
...
Unanswerable. Because, right now, of course, the honest answer is: both. And only time, and luck, will tell which is uppermost....
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