I imagined that three things were happening at once in two different minds. A dream with a key in it was alive in both of us, in my psychoanalyst and I, after the session, while each of us wrote about what had happened during our fifty minutes together. I’d dreamed of a key that unlocked what to me felt like a forbidden door. Somehow I knew what was behind the door: shelves of books that had been waiting for me for two decades. Once I was inside and had opened a few of the texts, I discovered that they were written in a foreign language. Could I learn it? Did I want to? Yes, I wanted to. That was the end of the dream. I imagined that the symbol of the key appeared to my analyst and I at the same moment, in our two different physical spaces, while each of us tried to remember the feeling of the session. Perhaps both of us wondered whether there were locked doors in those fifty minutes and what might be discovered if the key to open them appeared in one or both of our hands. Maybe the hour was about the fear and mystery involved in having an experience. My analyst and I would wonder about these things alone, each in his own work space, each in his own mind, each in his own imagination.