For the active, the weeks before the session are not a time of waiting.
They are a time of mental construction.
I am no longer in the moment.
But I am not outside of it either.
I think about it without wanting to.
And I repeat it without deciding to.
At first it is only a loose idea.
Then it becomes a form.
A scene that never fully closes.
And in that scene there is always a final point.
A point where everything is already aligned.
As if the body had already been arranged in advance.
As if every detail had found its place without my input.
And I only had to arrive.
Not change anything.
Not decide anything.
Only be there.
For days, even weeks, I return to that point mentally.
I imagine it with a precision I cannot trace back.
The exact moment when everything fits.
The instant where no variation is possible anymore.
And still I keep thinking about it.
Even when it does not feel comfortable.
Even when there is no clear enjoyment in it.
Something pulls me into rebuilding it again and again.
As if preparing it in my mind were part of the preparation itself.
As if I could not stop without losing something.
When it finally happens, there is no surprise.
Only continuity.
As if I had already been there before arriving.
As if waiting was not waiting, but anticipatory repetition.
And what is most strange is that.
That one part of me resists the idea.
And still imagines it without stopping.
For weeks.
Without real pause.
Only internal adjustment.
Only silent repetition.
Only the point where everything is already placed for the Master.
And I only have to remain.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
