They say we all have one.  A doppelgänger.  Another person in the world who is our exact double.  Someone who looks as much like us as an identical twin – a real split-egg, shared-birth, DNA copycat person, but without the family connection.  

Our doppelgängers are believed to share a similar personality with us, too:  same traits and temperament, same likes and dislikes, same strengths and vulnerabilities.  All those things that make us go “wow!” or “ewww!” are uncannily the same as our doppelgängers.  Sometimes, we even have the same birth dates.

There was a time when doppelgängers were dreaded, thought to bring bad luck.  It was certainly a bad omen if you saw your own.  The name itself (doppelgänger) is German and stands for “double walker.”  In English the term is “dead ringer.”  In ancient Egypt they were your “spirit doubles.”  The Norse called them “ghost walkers,” and they preceded you, walking through your life just ahead of you, performing your actions just before you did.  Often in literature they’re referred to as your “shadow self.”  All of which do sound rather haunting, foreboding, dark and suggestive.

Today, however, science is proving doppelgängers to be very real.  A trick of long-standing genetics and roll-the-dice coincidence:  generations of DNA strands that align just right.  (Of course, there is always the theory of time travel, which is popular with some folks, too.)

Personally, I rather like the idea of having a doppelgänger.  I like to believe she is alive and well and living in Paris.  Or in the old part of Vienna.  Perhaps in a woodland in Scotland.  Or near a lake in Switzerland.  She is a writer.  A lover of animals and nature.  She’s living alone in her skylight apartment (or small cozy cottage) guarding her independence.  She’s just my age.  Unfortunately, she also has breaky bones, so she’s probably also gimpy from being blind-sided by dogs or a tumble over cats.

But what if she’s not safe in a cafe in Paris … or a cottage in Scotland or Switzerland?  What if she’s living somewhere else?  Somewhere war-torn or unjust and unkind, or filled with mudslides and fires or lack of food and bombs screaming all around her.  And there are other hurting people screaming all around her.  And she’s trying to survive, trying to walk to safety, afraid of losing her brave brown dog, struggling to carry her old black and white cat.  Losing strength every day.  Losing hope.  And she’s frightened and in danger all the time.  And she’s in pain.  What if my doppelgänger is still under the rubble?

So here I am sitting in the warm Carolina sun.  Safe on the steps of my own little cottage, tossing a ball for my own brave brown dog, with my old black and white cat asleep in the window.  I sit in my comfort and privilege and think of my doppelgänger.  Wherever she is.  And so I think I must pray for her – and her dog and her cat.  

I think about if I were in her place.  Would I be able to survive?  Would I just turn my face to the wall.  Would I even call out for help.  Would my fear and trembling overtake me.

I must pray for them all to be safe and unafraid and searched for and found.  I must pray for her courage.  For more courage than I might have in her place.  I’ll pray that, even if I would give up, she still has the passion to climb out from under the weight of the chaos and collapse that closes in on her.  I’ll pray she is fierce.   

And I’ll pray that she knows I am praying for her.  As I hope she is praying for me.