Psychoanalytic Therapy Session #1
IT is innate that we should conquer the world we inhabit. In our genesis, God gave us the authority to rule. However, we can only conquer what we know. But, ironically, once we know a thing, thoroughly and comprehensively, we have no use of it. The unknown tethers us to a life of searching.
“There is something strange about the love between she and I,” I pensively told my therapist. “The exact reason continues to remain elusive. Is such knowledge too lofty for me to attain? Or is this desire to know the very driving force of my love for her?”
Noticing my passionate monologue bubbling, she gently called my name, “Solomon,” she waited until our eyes locked and my youthful passion submitted to her earned sagacity. She asked, “Don’t pirates spend their lives searching for hidden treasure? Are not humans embarked upon the great journey of life in pursuit of their purpose? What about plants? They—”
I cut her off, geeked to prove I wasn’t wet behind the ears. “Their relentless search for a source of water, ceases, once they quench their thirst,” I quipped.
She resumed her thought, unfazed by my impatient outburst, “A love that is strange, is a good thing. For, it is a love that keeps you both interested in each other and your potential. You will endeavor to understand what and who she is, who you are in relation to her, and what y’all are as a couple. Hopefully, if she loves you, she will be doing the same thing.”
“Then,” I began with a childish eagerness, “It is imperative that I create a language that can vividly describe what I portray as strange, and what the world perceives as love.”
“Solomon,” she began with a cotton soft tenderness, “How about we start that now? Speak from your heart but examine it with your mind because love contains both emotion and intelligence.”
There was no need for Solomon to think about what caused this strangeness. He spent time in silence on sentence placement. He also wanted to appear to his therapist as if he were thinking. He revered her and hoped to please her with his obedience. He nervously searched the room, doing anything to not make eye contact with his sage. She watched him with stillness as a lion watches its pray from afar. She was, after all, his therapist.
He was her client, but in order to help him, she must know him. Solomon must become a book. One she can read and study and reread. She watched Solomon’s mannerisms and facial expressions he displayed when he entertained specific thoughts. She watched his eyes drunkenly roam the room and was surprised when their eyes met. She glanced at the clock. Seven minutes passed since she asked the question.
With confidence Solomon began, “Doc, the strangeness is due to the level of harmony we share. I never knew a love like this could be possible on Earth, yet alone in life, and what’s crazy is that this is my reality. I am not saying our love is some fantasy or it resembles a romance movie I watched.” Solomon continued with his eyes locked on hers hoping she would see that his words rose from the depth of his soul. He spoke with a gentle strength, one only a true man could possess. “What we have will make even the purest love on a screen look unnatural and shallow. Adam and Eve envy us. Our love is like the first day of school, where there is simultaneously nervousness and excitement. The very thought of her penetrates to my bone.”
I paused. I tried to read her face as I assumed she tried to discern the veracity of my words. She waited. She remained patient with herself, quiet and self-controlled. On the outside, she watched me with a steel, granite hard face. I interpreted her silence as misunderstanding.
Solomon anxiously stood. He paced to the window and looked out, but at nothing in particular. He smiled at his thought. He scribbled it down on the post-it note on her window frame. He picked up his belongings and walked to the door.
“Solomon?” she hesitantly asked.
“Wassup doc?” Solomon questioned.
“Same time next week young brotha?” She asked with flavor in her voice.
Surprised at her change, Solomon turned around with a boyish smile said, “Why not? See ya later doc!”
As Solomon rode the elevator to his car. He read his note out-loud. Excited that his love sparked such creativity, but too nervous to share it with his therapist because he figured if he read it to her, any further information would give her clues to dissect his love. He knew, a love known is a love lost.
Our love has shored us in like the waters within the sea.
Although we wave.
Our vocabulary has changed.
I, has turned to we.
She is the wind on the ocean.
I am the current under the sea.
“I guess it can’t be too often that two people can laugh and make love, too, make love because they are laughing, laugh because they’re making love. The love and the laughter come from the same place: but not many people go there.”
