Inspired by a piece of music by Paul Morris (https://soundcloud.com/paul-morris-music-for-film) this story tells of a strange visit to an unusual shrink.
Somewhere between waking and sleeping on our journey towards the unfathomable deep, there comes a thin moment where we have one foot in the waking world and the other is in that other world where we relinquish conscious control.
Pausing here and straddled between two planets that drive one another like gears, the attentive traveler will notice a narrow door only wide enough to sidle through.
This is the border of sleep, where imagination and reality are braided together, a chasm in the crust of consciousness, venting the hot pumice of imagery into the irresistible magma of narrative.
Welcome to episode 39 of Stories from the Borders of Sleep, a semi regular podcast of curious tales from bordersofsleep.com featuring original stories by your host Seymour Jacklin.
Visit bordersofsleep.com for more information or to leave some feedback.
Artwork is by Robin Trainor, production by Tim Wiles, and the soundtrack for this week's episode is something a little bit special.
It's by Paul Morris, who is a listener to the podcast as well as a professional composer, and he creates wonderfully atmospheric music for tv, film and radio.
You can hear more of his work on soundcloud.com so search for him there or follow the link on the webpage to find out more.
Well then, if you're ready to journey with me, then I shall begin Water Cure by Seymour Jacklin I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to wait for anything.
It was uncomfortable.
I wasn't sure if I should be standing or sitting when the doctor arrived, and if I sat, whether my choice of chair would influence her impression of me.
The mahogany chaise longue was far too obvious an invitation to psychoanalysis.
The two wicker armchairs looked more like frail antiques, not for sitting.
I'd settled into the deep leather chair when I'd arrived a few minutes earlier, but this had begun to feel too deep.
It had enveloped me and I felt too vulnerable.
I slid out of it and stood up again.
Natural light came through the front of the summer house, but was quickly absorbed in the dark furnishings.
I looked out into the garden, back up towards the house, which seemed to dip in and out of focus as curtains of fine rain passed in front of it.
Dr.
Rayner will see you in the summer house.