Gloriana Bartoli, American Psychoanalytic Association (APsA) Member and Director of Training of the New Zealand Institute of Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy (NZIPP)
On April 1st, a short, elderly woman moved into the apartment next door. She just woke up from a sleepless night; she was walking poorly; it seems she was looking for something ... but what was it? “Only God knows!”, she thought. “I can hardly remember my name. Maybe it is a need for something? Today is the day; I know it now! It’s time to go, to move somewhere else. The first of April is a good day, a good start for something new. It is a joke, too! What am I doing this for? Whom am I doing this for? I am not sure.” She kept talking to herself, while trying to connect to the plan she vaguely recalled she made with her neighbour. “Meow, meow ...”, she could hear as she walked around the apartment. “Oh, poor you. Are you hungry?”, she asked calmly, while approaching the cat and gently stroking him, with affection, as she used to do when visiting her neighbour. Now that he was not there, she didn't feel as comfortable at his place, not like when he invited her for a coffee or a wine at night. Good friends, they were, nothing more, yet very close, in an inexplicable way, close in a way that only two human beings who truly understand each other can be, when something deep down touches them both, despite the differences. She kept looking around the apartment, slowly feeling more at ease as something familiar caught her eye and reminded her of the past: “that painting is marvellous, he told me about the story when he bought it, and that incredible encounter he had ...”. Just as he was about to address the assembled guests, he lost his voice. Looking up, looking down, searching here, searching there. “Where are you? Where have you gone? Or, I shall say: where are you hiding? Come on, let’s stop this hide and seek game”, I thought. A rattle came from within, so loud and potent, but nothing came out. I was reminded of animal species that don’t need to talk with their voice, like fireflies flashing in the night. Here I was, about to deliver an important speech and yet unable to do it in a conventional way. “Let’s dance, then”, I thought, moving my body gently and inviting others to follow, just to break the ice. A gentle move, easy for everyone, and slowly, one by one, the guests began to dance, each in their own way. I forgot about my voice, there was no need for it, not now at least! I found myself looking at my feet, at someone else’s eyes, at the room around us, simply feeling my body move.
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