A forgotten face suddenly recalled in memory, or one that simply seems to be mysteriously familiar brings with it an intimation of the strangeness of time, like perhaps no other memory, so that there is dimly sensed a realm of splendour beyond the horizon of time. Without giving this any more weight than it deserves this provides a hint of what all your seeking is directed towards, a compass bearing perhaps. And is it the face of an other or is it your own true face, or both at once?