when i was nineteen or so, i used to see a dream therapist. he was this very old very tall man with a very long beard and he taught psychology or anthropology or something like this at the university. he had this tiny office off campus and my boyfriend and i would see him when it was very dark out. we would sit in his very dark office on this little orange couch, and this very old man would take us through dream meditations. i appreciated this form of thought mostly because there was no pressure to say anything or feel anything; i was just wandering around my skull with some guide, which made my brain a nice enough place to be.
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