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.
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