Midas with His Psychiatrist

— To sum up so far. You were relieved when your
changing-everything-into-gold phase was over. You refer
to the river-experience as a kind of baptism, bringing a
sense of renewal. Now you've regained full health and
have adjusted back into your old routine.
— Yes.
— But you still have a problem?
— It's weighing on my mind — all that g-g-g-
— Gold. What's the problem specifically?
— How can I get rid of it?
— Kings usually spent it on armies or new palaces or tombs.
— I don't want to.
— So?
— I need someone to come and take it away.
— Who?
— I don't know. Perhaps I could give it to someone?
— Yes? What an interesting idea!
— Such as a guru or holy person.
— Oh.
— But they never want it.
— Ah …
— I've covered it all with black cloth … to blot it out from
my mind. I saw the first cobweb there today.
— Hmmm?
— In the Treasury. Hanging down from a candle-bracket
made of g-g-g-
— Gold.
— It made me happy.
— I'm not sure you're facing the real issue.
— No, I'm not. Because, don't you see, there's no solution. I
have to live with that. Better if it drives me mad than
someone else. It is all my fault. I can't bear the way it just
lies there, it's so, it's so … eternal.
— So how will you cope?
— I'll try to manage; keep busy, fit … I've got a lot to live
for now. The whole experience has given me …
— What?
— A small grain of wisdom.
— That sounds rather vague. Not much to go on.
— I notice you like g-g-g-
— Gold. Oh yes, the cufflinks, neck chain, Swiss watch.
They're standard. They go with the job.
— And that small statue there?
— That's pure gold too. Hermes. The god of money. I
found it in a pawnshop. If I were a suggestible type, I'd
say it almost beckoned.
— May I borrow it?
— Why not — you're good security.
— You know, some jokes can be rather upsetting.
— Well, I see the golden sands have run out. See you next
week. Have a nice day. Look after yourself. G-g-g-o
carefully.