I am beginning to think that the problem is not that I think too much about the Master.
For years I assumed that the importance of things was a stable property.
Work was important.
Conversations were important.
Plans were important.
Ordinary concerns were important.
Everything seemed to occupy the amount of space it deserved.
Now it does not.
Now something strange happens.
Things still exist.
But they have lost density.
Like photographs exposed to light for too long.
The outlines remain.
The colors remain.
But something essential has disappeared.
Sharpness.
And the more I try to understand why it happens, the more obvious an uncomfortable possibility becomes.
Perhaps I am not losing interest in the world.
Perhaps I am constantly comparing it to something that already occupies too much space.
I do not like being submissive.
The sentence remains true.
It has not stopped being true.
In fact, it may never have been as true as it is now.
I do not like it.
It does not seem logical.
It does not fit the person I thought I was.
If someone had described this situation to me years ago, I would have thought exactly what I still think now.
That it makes no sense.
That something is malfunctioning.
And yet the error continues producing results.
Day after day.
Week after week.
Like a machine that keeps running even after being declared impossible.
Days have passed since the last session.
Physical traces still remain.
But the physical traces are not what stay behind.
What remains is something else.
An orientation.
A direction.
And that is what I cannot understand.
Because one part of me wants distance.
Wants autonomy.
Wants to recover the previous clarity.
Wants to prove that all of this is temporary.
But another part seems to remain motionless in front of a door that is not even open.
Waiting.
Not waiting for something specific.
Not waiting for a date.
Not waiting for an order.
Simply waiting.
As if waiting had ceased to be an activity and had become a biological function.
And the less I can explain it, the deeper it seems to become.
I used to think obsession was an accumulation.
Now I am beginning to suspect it is a reorganization.
It does not add something new.
It rearranges what is already there.
It moves priorities.
It shifts weights.
It redistributes importance.
That is why everything else seems farther away.
Not because it has disappeared.
But because something inside me has placed it into a different orbit.
Sometimes I try to remember who I was before all of this started occupying so much space.
And the question produces a strange sensation.
Not because I have forgotten the answer.
But because I am no longer certain that the question points in the right direction.
Perhaps I am exactly the same person.
Perhaps the only thing that has changed is the internal architecture.
The arrangement of the rooms.
The distance between one door and another.
The amount of space a single presence can occupy without being present.
That is what is beginning to feel truly unsettling.
The Master no longer appears only as a memory.
He appears as a structure.
As a reference point.
As a silent coordinate.
And when a presence becomes a coordinate it no longer needs to manifest itself.
Because everything else begins organizing around it.
That is why obsession does not diminish through absence.
Absence becomes part of the mechanism.
Distance becomes fuel.
Misunderstanding becomes depth.
And every time I try to find the bottom of all this I discover exactly the same thing.
Another layer.
And beneath that layer, another.
And beneath that one, another still.
As if the obsession were not built around an answer.
As if it were built around a question that never fully forms itself.
And perhaps that is why I keep thinking about it.
Because I have not yet reached the center.
And every day I suspect a little more that there is no center at all.
Only depth.
The neck, I am not moving it…
