One of my favorite books as a child was Robert Louis Stevenson's
A Child's Garden of Verses, and one of my favorite poems in the book was "My Shadow."
| He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play, | |
| And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. | 10 |
| He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see; | |
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
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Okay, well, maybe the verse doesn't translate well in a blog. Robert was quite the spoiled little brat, wasn't he? But he was wonderful. Of course, I've known about my shadow for as long as I can remember, including in a Jungian sense, but it amazes me that I have only at this relatively advanced age recognized that a certain shadowy coward called
anxiety has made a fool of me in every sort of way, staying close beside me, throughout my life.