By way of a trick that nature plays, the average man knows less about himself than what a relative stranger would know about him. He has built up a self-image, a picture that he holds of himself, formed quite early on in his life, and it has been reinforced for so long that it serves as a blinding barrier to any ordinary efforts he may make to reveal who and what he actually is. He can look into a mirror and see his outer features, this physical body that tows his being from place to place, but the landscape of his psychology is void of any such tools for self-reflection. He is unaware of much that goes on inside his mind, where intentions, reactions and deeply-ingrained fears run amok in utter darkness. All of these are in plain sight to a passing onlooker, but he is unable to see what should otherwise be plainly obvious. This mask he wears had taken root far too long ago, when as a child he imitated the masks of his parents, teachers, and everyone else. Now he sees, thinks and feels through it in a fashion that distorts, taints and deludes his every breath, estranging him from he himself.