Silence seemed to welcome me this morning, which felt strange. I knew I would start speaking as soon as I could. Reality had to be faced first. I had to walk from the door to the couch. Inner distance seemed more significant than the number of feet I had to walk before lying down on a couch that had become a welcoming place over the past several months. Walking was a welcoming activity. It happened outside of my mind, didn’t it? Once I arrived at my destination for the next fifty minutes, I would be faced with an inner reality: I didn’t know what I knew. My feet stopped moving. I was ready to lie down. A threatening thought came to me: I could remain silent. Seconds later I was lying down. Several things came to mind at once. Then everything disappeared, as if my mind was empty, and I experienced moments without words, inner or outer ones. This was real, wasn’t it? Where were the words? Several minutes might have passed. Then he spoke, seated behind me. What was I thinking? I told the truth: nothing.