This first piece emerged from a threshold — that moment when body and mind surrender at the edge of burnout, and the soul drifts between awareness and surrender.

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In the calm dimness of summer, where I lay down my deep fatigue and the healing hands of the masseuse patiently trace the aching paths of my meridians, she murmurs: “Discipline. You need discipline…”

I flinch. Why this thought, out of nowhere, at the very moment my body surrenders? A shiver runs across my skin.

Discipline, to me, means severity, constraint, burden — the sweat of a slave forced into alienation. It crushes my creativity, drives me back into the dark cave of indefinite waiting. It weighs heavily on my shoulders, just as I try to stand upright again.

So many years obeying rules, suffering, denying myself, holding back the scream of despair and the urge to break those heavy chains — chains carved by sweat and silence.

Rebellious, I refuse — in an almost suicidal act — leaving the monstrous packs of the disciplined with the excuse and the weapons to strike me down.

And yet I know, like some mythical hero, I must overcome my fears to face the monster, kill it in all its monstrosity, and manducate its strength, its territory, and its power*.

In a ritual communion, I honor, I bless, I integrate a Nature in which I dissolve.

Nature — here I am again, present before you. Take me back into your womb, dear Mother, take me back to the beginning, to the Whole — where everything becomes possible again, where I am neither me nor other, where I know, where I see the order of nature, the spontaneous discipline in which each gesture creates the magnificent symphony of life.

Teach me, dear Mother, the arpeggios of your incredibly creative and ordered music; melt me into that marvelous orchestra that constantly composes the hymn of life.

Let me be reborn, in my own way, from my fertile Chaos…

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* Note on "manducate" :

In mystical or theological contexts, 'to manducate' refers to a deep act of bodily integration, as in the ritual of communion.
In poetic or literary usage, it takes on a more primal, instinctive, even sacred tone — both animal and mystical.
A visceral word, rough in sound and meaning, evoking transformation through embodiment.