Hermit in the Hall of Mirrors: Synopsis


“Every journey offers numerous opportunities for new awareness and also exposes us to the risk of disorientation. To be alone in a strange land with no support from family, neighbours or friends creates a certain time of truth, when the hero can discover who he really is, or be destroyed by the experience.”
– Sallie Nichols, Jung and Tarot: An Archetypal Journey

Sitting on a rock by the sea in the sunshine. Thankfully the mini market is closed for another hour so I probably won’t buy cigarettes. The film noir aspects of my personality are itching for some smoky drama, some long intense sits with held breath, some late night straight spirits and dark love songs.

She’s dark and bitter, like good coffee or chocolate, and she has a voice and her beauty too. Her name is Arielle. She’s living on a Greek island. Has complex and ultimately unfulfilling liaisons with a Dutch ex-shipping, ex-military older lost boy living on the cliff edge. The son of a local farmer loves her and brings her fruit, she wishes she could let his simple and sincere love in and settle down to wifely life. The one who rocks her soul is at sea, on the run, on a mission. Surrounding himself with singing and play. Drowning out his heart’s wailing with raucous drums. An artist of life must have many muses… Here is a story of a young woman’s encounters with her animus in numerous forms, as she releases illusions about what love is and reclaims lost parts of herself.

She feels suspended, in a heavenly interlude like the most beautiful dream, but all alone. She craves and abhors the presence of other people. Anyone will do and no-one. She doesn’t remember how or when she came to the island or when she will leave. She knows she will be sent for. All else is mist. She fluctuates between struggle and surrender. Days roll into each other one moment and stretch interminably the next. It is a dance with not knowing. She tries to run from it, through it, towards it, but it holds strong and will not be moved. She batters her fists against it, begging and wailing for a crack in the intense flatness of nothing to be known. It stands firm. Eternal and reassuring nothingness, which she can count on for always.

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