In my dream my analyst was listening to me describe a dream I said I'd had a week earlier. In my dream's dream I broke a raw egg on the head of my dog to make him stop barking. Suddenly my analyst interrupted my story because he wanted to tell me something he'd been keeping from me.
"How is this possible?" I asked. "You're not listening, you're talking."
"Fascinating," said my analyst. "I wanted to tell you I know some things about myself."
"Is this still analysis?" I wondered out loud.
"Where?" said my analyst.
"By the candle there," I said.
"I see."I was afraid to go on, not knowing what to dream next. But the dream went on ahead anyway, having gathered the past in a weightless satchel. We like to say a "body" of knowledge. This was a "body" of impressions. The dream felt softly elongated, a long dark sleeveless coat, already buttoned.