Imagination, Memories, Future, Mystery

She thought I was there to say hello. How could she have imagined that I intended, in my imagination, to rearrange her furniture? Her office will always remain in my mind. I spent hundreds of hours there over a six-year period, once a week, except for one year when life seemed too much for me and I increased our sessions to twice a week. This last sentence is based on reality. Those years introduced me both to psychotherapy and to Jungian thought. She’d been a Jungian psychotherapist for decades, and later on, not long after we stopped working together, in her mid sixties, she embarked on a six-year training to become a Jungian psychoanalyst. Now, also in reality, the psychoanalysis that I’ve been in for four months is about to become more intense, and I will lie on the couch an additional fifty-minute hour a week, four times instead of three. I’ve no idea what to expect. That’s not true. Since this treatment started as twice-a-week psychoanalytic psychotherapy and then became a three-times-a-week psychoanalysis, experience has taught me that the work will become even more part of me. These sentences have been a mixture of fiction and reality. Maybe, in my imagination, I am saying hello to my first psychotherapist, the Jungian, who somehow managed to survive my chaotic mind during those difficult years of my life. The image that came to me before I wrote the initial sentence of this paragraph was of entering her office and placing her chair behind the couch that, twenty years ago, was against one wall. A few years after our first session, I arrived for my weekly session and the couch was gone. Only two chairs, facing each other, remained. Those fifty minutes, my initial minutes in that room without the couch (clients only sat on it; she didn’t practice psychoanalysis), feel as if they happened yesterday. A new chapter in my life of psychotherapy begins soon, and I seem to be remembering how this part of my life began.


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