ABSTRACT
This book—as I revealed in the preface—makes no pretences of being anything other than a testimony to my way of being a psychoanalyst in these last ten to fifteen years. As such, being the description of a journey, it has no conclusion other than a provisional one since, as the poets write, it is the going that is the very essence of a completed journey, and not the end at which one arrives. He who has journeyed anywhere and turned his gaze back to tell about it years later will have noticed that he is no longer the same traveller who began the journey, and that he is looking back on a different landscape from the one he had perceived earlier. The traveller, in other words, had returned to the road without knowing it, starting out on a new exploration, as happens with a dream that, as soon as it is narrated, is no longer the same dream that was dreamed, but an unknown dream that makes things partially visible, things that in previous experience were not evident.
