Something was different about his speech today. He lay down on the couch, and several minutes passed before I was fairly certain that he wasn’t speaking about a dream. There was something dreamy about his material. He spoke about his morning. Was it this morning or yesterday morning? It doesn’t matter, I thought. It doesn’t? My attention returned to his words and to my subjective experience of his words. I also thought: my impressions of his words. Maybe I was dreaming. Anything was possible. Where did that come from? How many coffees did he say he drank while talking to his friend in a coffee shop? The question disappeared, or did it? The word coffee reminded me of my own morning, today, yesterday, every morning, and now, without warning, I heard nothing, silence, absence of words. Perhaps the phrase, absence of words, was related to what was happening unconsciously in this session. The patient on the couch might be missing something, a mental or emotional something, which he hoped to recover here, in this safe place. Was he thinking this in his unconscious mind? My unconscious seemed active. I wished that this flow of thoughts would slow down enough so that I might focus on one thing. That’s what I needed to do, or was it? How about the patient? He remained silent. Perhaps my mind needed to reach a silent state too.