ABSTRACT
I disliked Mitzi Rain from the moment she walked into my office. The reason for this—or so I believed at the time—was the way she had of killing words. She was an “expressive arts” therapist who drew her skills from an eclectic mix of Eastern religion, Jungian analysis, a master’s degree in counseling and a few certificates in yoga and massage. Normally, I might have found her interesting.
