|
Just an anecdote about the whole therapist-as-mirror thing: in one of my very last sessions with previous T I remember her smiling at me in a particular way and it seemed to me that I was seeing my smile on her face. I loved her in that moment, yet I was aware that I was seeing a piece of myself somehow.
Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
__________________
'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
|