The strange thing was not the darkness.
The strange thing was what happened afterward.
Because the blindfold eventually disappeared.
The earplugs were removed.
The session ended.
The door opened again.
And yet something never returned.
For a long time I believed the important part was not seeing.
Now I think the important part was not having to look.
There is a difference.
A very large difference.
When the world disappeared behind the blindfold, something inside me stopped working.
I did not have to interpret anything.
I did not have to evaluate anything.
I did not have to decide anything.
I only had to remain.
I only had to wait.
And the more time passes since those sessions, the harder it becomes to forget that feeling.
I remember it with absurd precision.
I remember the exact pressure of the blindfold.
I remember the way darkness seemed to acquire weight.
I remember how outside sounds became more and more distant.
But above all I remember something else.
The Master’s breathing.
Because once everything had been adjusted.
Once the corrections were finished.
Once the final position had been reached.
All that remained was waiting.
And within that waiting the breathing became enormous.
Not because it was intense.
Not because it was extraordinary.
Precisely because it was ordinary.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
And while I listened to it, I had the feeling that time no longer moved in the same way.
Now, outside that room, I find myself searching for it.
Not the specific breathing.
But what it created.
The feeling that everything had already been resolved.
The feeling that there was nothing left to decide.
The feeling that the world could stop for a few minutes.
That is why the obsession continues growing.
Because memory does not preserve the procedure.
It preserves the clarity.
It preserves the simplicity.
It preserves that moment when darkness removed every question.
And every time I return to ordinary life I feel the same fracture.
Conversations continue.
Streets continue.
Days continue.
But something remains behind.
Waiting.
As if I were still sitting inside that room.
As if I could still hear calm breathing somewhere nearby.
As if part of me were still waiting for the end of something that ended a long time ago.
And perhaps that is what unsettles me most.
That the obsession no longer seems connected to pain.
Or obedience.
Or even submission.
It seems connected to clarity.
To the unbearably precise memory of a few minutes during which everything stopped being confusing.
I have to move the neck…
