It’s like watching a movie. In which you deeply and passionately relate to the main character, who has been wronged. You feel angry, vindictive, vengeful. You want to lash out at the antagonist who has wronged him. Then you pull back and realize: This is only a movie. I am watching a movie, and as much as I relate to the main character, as invested as I feel in his plight and ordeal, I am not him. He is not me. He doesn’t exist, not really. He is a character on a screen and you are … what are you, exactly? Good question. After you leave the theater, and forget about the man you related to who was wronged, you ponder the question—Who or what am I? From an imagined distance, you feel as if you are being watched, perhaps even dreamed through. You suddenly become very afraid of the imitation you might encounter, when turning the corner.