Navy blazer, grey slacks, leather chairs, the austerity of analytic psychology itself a gardened hedge against the chaos of badly wounded psyches and the mayhem of human behavior.
Who am I to plant seeds? And besides, perhaps it’s the tree itself, and not the snake much less God 2.0, that has played us: “Hey kids, whatever you do, do not eat that fruit.” It’s not only bears that shit in the forest. Really love your peaches, but your tree shakes me.
It was a woman’s hundredth birthday party when I saw Peter in a lovely, albeit cool and drizzly, garden. Over twenty years his blue eyes had grown soft and his graying beard was soft too. His leather jacket was soft and his velvet handshake as good as a hug. Looking into my eyes he said, about therapy, but probably about everything: “It’s all about love.”