The moment I stand before the Master is not a conscious choice.
It is a way of being that has already happened before I can think it.
I do not fully like what I feel.
But I also cannot step away from it.
I try to think of something else.
It does not last.
My attention returns.
It always returns.
There is no clear enjoyment in this.
Only a fixation I cannot explain.
The body is here.
Still.
Available.
And that seems enough for everything else to lose importance.
I wonder why I am still here.
But the question does not move forward.
It stays in the same place.
As if it had no direction.
Only an edge.
Only a repeated sensation.
I do not think about the “why” for long.
I replace it with waiting.
Waiting takes more space than answers.
And when I notice, I am already in front of him again.
Without deciding to return.
Without fully having left.
It is not pleasure.
It is not clear rejection either.
It is something between both that cannot fully be named.
Just being.
Just holding presence.
Just remaining.
In that remaining, everything else becomes secondary without me ever fully agreeing to it.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
