Men must somehow learn to see through themselves and perceive the world with unfettered eyes. As it is, without such sharp clarity of mind, their every inherent and learned bias skews their vision. Psychological colours, shapes and sizes are all affected and twisted into caricatures of themselves. They suddenly grow tense and angry at the sight of a certain characteristic someone before them wears on their forehead. It is apparently a quality they do not wish to see manifested in themselves. Or they are placid amidst their friends because the entire group, like a flock of birds, share a great many psychological traits that they are very aware of. There is a mechanism in place in each one that for some reason or another has adapted itself to buffering men’s minds from feeling and knowing the reality of who they are. Their happiness or sadness is involuntarily out of their control, left as whims of a churning fate that is unknowable from one day to the next. An ordinary man doesn’t face reality, he doesn’t touch it, and so his experience of life is entirely indirect. He’ll settle his mind on a thousand accidental distractions as long as they keep him staring in every direction except towards himself.