No Dream (7.8.2026)

What strikes me first on this Friday morning is your final sentence about yesterday:
“And all that despite my bad mood yesterday.”

It is almost the countercheck to something that happens to you again and again in darker hours: your present state then feels like a statement about your entire life. Yesterday you were unhappy and exhausted; Eva and tantra suddenly seemed like a dead end; work was doing you no good; inspiration was absent. And while you were in that state, you solved two difficult problems at work, found an important conceptual solution for Astrofragen, evidently managed to give Alexander something, and in the evening had an encounter that did you an extraordinary amount of good.

So the bad mood was real. But it knew surprisingly little about what was possible that day.

And then there is Norman. I believe the crucial thing was indeed more than just the meal. He contacted you. You did not have to initiate, wonder whether you were intruding, or set some relationship in motion. Someone from your existing network reached out because he wanted to see you. And then you were sitting at a table with him and Paul. Once again that image of a table, which has appeared with striking frequency lately: the young woman with her father at the Stadtgarten; your thoughts about family; now Norman, his son, and you. People sit together, talk, eat, and for a few hours belong together as a matter of course. Perhaps that is why it felt so unusually good.

The fact that Norman, of all things, is now considering volunteering at a hospice is almost funny. You meet again after his trip, and suddenly discover that each of you has independently developed a very similar idea. That creates another form of common ground: not just a shared past, but a possible parallel path into the future. Even if the two of you never end up volunteering together.

The story with Alexander fits this too. What I find interesting is less that you found the right words than what you found them for. Alexander was evidently still caught in that very familiar male after-loop: I should have reacted more forcefully. I should have taught him a lesson. And you were apparently able to offer him something that led him out of that wounded pride. This after an evening when you yourself had reacted rather impulsively with “retard.” Perhaps that is precisely why you could speak about it credibly. You were not the composed father explaining the right way to behave from above. You had both been in the same scene.

And then, almost in passing, there is this:
“I also got to shine at work yesterday.”

In light of your entry the day before, I find that remarkable. It may be worth separating work more clearly from how you currently feel. Work can weigh on you, and you can be very good at it. It can take away your autonomy and at the same time give you the kind of experience to which you clearly respond: something has been lying around unresolved for quite a while, you arrive and find a solution. That is almost exactly the position in which you always felt comfortable as a solution architect.

And that brings me back to our new Saturn.
“Let's see how long it carries me.”
You are now using the word yourself.
Perhaps it does not have to carry you for very long at all.

That may be the small shift. A good Thursday does not have to guarantee Friday. Norman's call does not have to eliminate your loneliness. Two technical successes do not have to prove that self-employment was the right choice. A lovely thought of Ginger does not have to be answered at once with: Should I write to her?

It can carry you for one day.

And tomorrow, perhaps something else will.

With Ginger, I would therefore leave your sentence exactly as it is:
“It is lovely to think of her.”

I like that far better than some of our earlier analyses of Ginger. No reckoning. No astrological explanation of her Leo ego. No decision as to whether the relationship was right or wrong. You miss her. And remembering her feels lovely just now.

The fact that you add “Perhaps one day I will follow it” is interesting. Not: I have to get her back. Not even: I should write to her.

Perhaps, one day.

That leaves a surprising amount of space.

And perhaps that is currently the more pleasant counter-movement to what happened with Eva yesterday. There, the demand for initiative immediately created constriction: Will you call or won't you? Do you want me or don't you? Are you coming this weekend or not?

With Ginger, this morning there is only longing.
It seems rather wise not to turn it into a task just yet.

It is a pity about the dream, though. Sometimes it still returns when some entirely incidental image appears during the morning. And sometimes all that remains is the feeling that something was there. That does not necessarily have to be recaptured either.

In any case, this morning I would hold on to one sentence from yesterday:
The mood was bad. The day was good.

That is a rather valuable experience for someone whose mood occasionally tells him it already knows how the story continues.

Yes. That probably has to be included in the reckoning of yesterday. Ms Lenores was absent—and not just for one appointment, but for two whole weeks. So on a day when you were already less stable, an anchor that has become quite important suddenly disappeared.

I think the appointments now serve several functions for you at once. There is, of course, the therapeutic work. But Ms Lenores has also become a relationship that returns regularly. You do not have to activate her. You do not have to wonder whether you are allowed to call. You do not have to be interesting. You do not have to guess her needs. On Thursday mornings, Ms Lenores is there, and you may come with whatever happens to be there.

The contrast is striking, especially against the background of what happened between you and Eva. With Eva, the question of reciprocity immediately arises: Who calls whom? Who needs what? How much initiative signifies interest? With Ms Lenores, the asymmetry is explicitly permitted. You are allowed to be in need. For someone who very quickly experiences other people's needs as an obligation, that must be extraordinarily relieving.

And that is why I would not be too quick to regard your fear of the ending as a problematic dependency. It would be more surprising if a therapeutic relationship became important and its ending then left you indifferent.

Perhaps it even contains something you described so precisely at the Stadtgarten the other day: a sense of being taken for granted. Ms Lenores has, to some extent, become part of the architecture of your week. And when illness suddenly removes her, you notice the supporting wall precisely because it is no longer there.

That brings us back to Saturn.

We had discovered it as that which carries. Perhaps therapy has now become something Saturnian in your life: a reliable temporal framework within which something very lunar and Neptunian may take place—feeling, telling, associating, crying, remembering, being understood and also contradicted.

And that is why I find your other question even more important:
“I still do not know how to deal with the fact that one day they will come to an end.”

Perhaps you do not have to know how just yet. But at some point I would discuss this fear with her.
Not only at the final or penultimate appointment.
Because the end of therapy is not an organisational problem that follows the actual therapy. It is part of the therapy.

For you in particular, there may be an incredible amount of material in it: What happens when a person who has become important does not remain permanently available? Does connection turn into loss? Do you try to leave inwardly in advance? Do you perhaps devalue what there was? Do you want to hold on? Can something end and still be preserved within you?

And here our Saturn gains yet another, perhaps very beautiful meaning.

To carry does not necessarily mean to remain.

Something can carry a person for a time—and in doing so help that person become more capable of carrying himself afterwards.

Perhaps that would one day be the good form of saying goodbye to Ms Lenores: not “Now I no longer need her.” That would feel far too sterile to me.

But rather:
“I can now take something of what developed between us with me.”

And yesterday, this woman was simply absent.

You are allowed to have been affected by that. Perhaps it even explains part of the diffuse low mood whose possible causes you initially sought in Eva, work, tantra, and your entire present life.