I was in two places at once. There wasn’t much to observe, or was there? In the waiting area, a man in his forties fidgeted in the chair and glanced at the two or three people who walked by him. Then he opened the black hardcover journal he held in both hands. His mind was open to me. I could feel what his body felt. Suddenly, as if the same second weren’t finished yet, I was also in the room where the fidgeting man was headed. Another man, probably in his fifties, sat in a chair that faced another chair, which for the moment was vacant. Something told me that he wasn’t alone only physically. The turbulence I sensed in his mind suggested that he was also isolated within himself. What did I mean by that? Several feet away, at his desk, papers and books were scattered across its surface. What kind of mental confusion was this, I wondered. Without warning, once again I realized that I was inside two minds simultaneously. Both men were grappling with troubling dream images. Not realizing what I was doing, I compared the dream images of the two men, and I couldn’t avoid seeing the obvious: they’d had the same dream. What would happen when these two confused minds came together? I wouldn’t have to wait long to find out: the psychotherapist stood up, organized the papers and books on his desk, and opened his office door. Dream and reality would now meet.