The strange thing is that the darkness never truly ended when the blindfold was removed.
That is what I keep trying to understand.
The session ended.
The Master removed every piece of equipment.
The light returned.
The noise returned.
The world returned.
And yet a part of me remained there.
Not in the room.
Not exactly.
But in the moment just before the light came back.
There is something about that instant that became trapped inside me.
Sometimes I wake in the morning and for a few seconds I do not remember where I am.
Not because I am confused.
But because my mind seems to be checking something.
As if it expects to find that darkness still intact.
As if it expects to still be there.
Motionless.
Waiting.
And then disappointment arrives.
A strange disappointment.
Because I am in my bed.
Because it is an ordinary day.
Because I have to get up.
Answer messages.
Work.
Talk.
Move.
Think.
And none of those things seem as sharply defined as that stillness.
That is what unsettles me.
Not the session.
Not the pain.
Not the obedience.
The clarity.
Because I remember that darkness more precisely than events that should have mattered far more.
I remember the exact weight of the silence.
I remember the sensation of breathing.
I remember the stillness.
I remember the calm.
While other things disappear.
Conversations.
Entire days.
Whole weeks.
Everything seems to erode slowly.
Except that.
And the more time passes, the more obvious the difference becomes.
A few days ago I tried to explain it to myself.
It was just an experience.
Nothing more.
A specific event.
Something that happened and ended.
But the explanation failed.
Because ordinary experiences move away.
This one does not.
It remains.
Like a stone in the middle of a river.
Everything changes around it.
It does not.
And then the question returns.
The same question.
Always the same.
Why?
Why do I keep thinking about it?
Why do I keep comparing everything to it?
Why do I keep feeling as if something important remains there waiting?
I do not like being submissive.
The sentence is still true.
I repeat it again and again.
I do not like it.
It does not fit me.
It does not match the image I once had of myself.
And yet the contradiction only feeds the problem.
Because the more I deny it, the more present it becomes.
The more I try to move away, the sharper the memory appears.
As if resistance were fuel.
As if the obsession grew precisely where I attempt to stop it.
And some nights, when the house is completely silent, I experience a strange sensation.
I do not imagine orders.
I do not imagine pain.
I do not imagine punishment.
The only thing I imagine is remaining.
Simply remaining.
As if all the complexity of the world could be reduced to that.
Remain.
Wait.
Breathe.
And allow time to continue without me for a moment.
That is what frightens me most.
Because I do not understand it.
And because it seems more important every day.
I have to move the neck…
