Well, how about that? Certainly I have felt oppressed by routine and my solitary life lately, and by the sense that I am trapped in a profession that holds little interest for me any more beyond my present post’s unusually good pay. The question posed by my dream therapist was a tough and pertinent one, and I have been thinking about it all day. I was disappointed by the therapy itself, though. Someone who can ask so searching a question at just the right time ought to be able to do better than that variation on the crackpot practice of Hopi ear-candling.
Friday, 10 July 2009
I didn’t sleep well last night, merely dozed, wandering in and out of senseless grey dreams. One dream stood out, though. I am, λέει, with two strangers, a woman and a man, who seem to be therapists of some sort, and I their client. Their faces are close to mine as I lie on a couch. The man asks me a question; I am required to evaluate my degree of enthusiasm and appetite for living, how fully I believe I grasp opportunity for enjoyment of this world and what it offers. The question leaves me utterly stumped and tongue-tied. The two of them exchange looks, raising their eyebrows in exasperation at my inability to answer, rather as if I were some malingerer pleading sickness when there’s work to be done, or a hopelessly under-qualified applicant for a top-flight post. We proceed to the therapy, which involves bringing a smoking thurible of headily fragranced incense close to my face, almost into my mouth, for the perfume to permeate my mind and awaken it to the beauty and richness it seems to be missing…