Shadow

the other He talks about me as his “Other”. I don’t mind – you can waste a lot of time on working out words. Am I the genie in his lamp? You might think so. Or when Doctor Jekyll becomes Mr Hyde? or Doctor Faustus? No, come on, I might look a bit Cruella Deville but this ain’t no devil-woman. I emerge, let’s just say, - but am I summoned? What he needs to do is get out of his dressy-uppy bubble and get active. He needs me. He needs to “be” me. Actually, he needs to “do” me, - and he does. And although I’m very various there’s not an infinite number of me’s to choose from. When I emerge I bring him with me – we step out of the door and onto the street together. I allow him all of my sensations and feelings. And I am only me, for him, when we meet, yes, Others. Other Others. Then I know who I am and he knows who we are. Essentially. And then he knows what it’s like to be an object, to run the risk of being taken, - and broken. Take all this off and am I still me? Was I there at birth? Carl Jung would say one of us was The Shadow. And while we tangle ourselves up in all this self-reflection another Trans sex-worker is killed in Brazil. Now that’s the Other. Not “I”. The Other Other Other.