I am beginning to suspect that the most important moment of the session was never the session itself.
It was the time when I was alone.
Because pain ends.
Instructions end.
Adjustments end.
Even the Master’s presence ends.
But that did not end.
It is still happening now.
Seven days later.
Probably far beyond that.
I remember the exact moment the door closed.
Not because something extraordinary happened.
Precisely because nothing happened.
The Master told me to remain there.
Alone.
Kneeling.
Hands resting on my knees.
Back straight.
Eyes forward.
And then he disappeared.
For a few seconds I kept expecting an event.
An order.
A sound.
A correction.
Something.
But nothing arrived.
Only the room.
And then something strange happened.
The room began to acquire depth.
Not physical depth.
Another kind of depth.
As if every object had been patiently waiting for the noise to disappear before revealing itself.
I remember the door.
I remember the frame.
I remember a small imperfection in the paint.
I remember the silence.
Above all, I remember the silence.
Because the silence seemed to possess weight.
I do not know how long I remained there.
I lost the ability to measure it.
Every few seconds I breathed a little deeper.
And I smiled.
I do not know why I smiled.
That is one of the things that disturbs me most.
I was not happy.
I was not excited.
I was not euphoric.
I simply smiled.
As if some part of me had found something that the rest still could not understand.
I wanted to look around the room.
I wanted to turn my head.
I wanted to examine the details.
But I did not.
I remained looking at the door.
Waiting.
And the waiting began to change shape.
At first I was waiting for him to return.
Then I was waiting to hear something.
Then I was waiting for a sign.
And finally I discovered something much stranger.
I was no longer waiting for an event.
I was waiting for a presence.
The difference seems small.
It is not.
Because events arrive and end.
Presences can remain indefinitely.
Even when they are absent.
Perhaps that is where something began to grow that now occupies too much space.
Because when the Master returned I did not feel relief.
I felt continuity.
As if the waiting had not ended.
As if it had simply changed states.
And since then the same thing seems to happen.
Days have passed.
Life continues.
Obligations continue.
Conversations continue.
Everything keeps functioning.
Yet something remains oriented toward that door.
Toward that room.
Toward that moment.
I do not understand why.
And the less I understand it, the more important it seems.
Sometimes I try to remember who I was before this began occupying so much space.
And the question produces no answers.
It produces more rooms.
More layers.
More depth.
As if I had entered a building that continues constructing itself from within.
And every time I think I have found the center, I discover another corridor.
Another door.
Another empty room where the waiting is still sitting exactly where I left it.
Still looking at the door.
Still breathing a little deeper every few seconds.
Still smiling.
I have to move the neck, I am not moving it, the neck has locked, I should…
