Most of the time life happens inside. Not on the streets nor in crowded squares nor at the top of that nearby mountain, but inside the house. In the lobby, in the living room, in the hallways. In bed. I’m now looking at the walls of my room. The light is holding back behind the blinds. Only a few broken rays manage to enter, projecting the colours of the outside world onto the interior walls. The same walls that are retaining that other world from existing here. Today nothing or almost nothing happened. There was this feeling again. As if we were watching from a boat how the earth gets smaller and smaller. Unwaveringly. Sometimes like now I don’t even remember why I’m here.

Memories disappear or get confused. There is no connection to what exists outside the house. It’s working. There is no wifi. Maybe there is just no outside the house. I’m eating an apple. Sitting in bed. We are all eating apples. This means it will soon be dark. The night will come after the apple break and we will all leave our beds and wander around until a warm bath will cover our body. They change the scents of the hot jacuzzi session daily. Yesterday it was something between lavender and orange. I’m ready to have a bath. I will take off the white t-shirt and the white pants uniform and put the white bathrobe to walk along a large hallway to wait for my turn. Yes, wait. It seems that there is nobody else, but there are actually others.

Last night, a Japanese guy showed me some new exercises. So we lied down on the floor and we did the complete chart with some Japanese background songs. It was a very simple series in which we were almost not moving at all but it helped me to sleep well. The bed is always clean. The sheets are changed every day.

I slept well. My dreams were the same dream. There is a house with many rooms and I’m walking from one to another. In circles. There is a dining room with many cups of coffee and toasts and butter and jams of different colours and flavours. A party is happening next door. I go to the party room. Something is different tonight. The people are not standing or dancing and talking to each other. There is nobody in the party. Just the music and the lights. Then there is a bedroom with a balcony and the balcony leads to a cliff with an access to a narrow path that goes along the coast with the ocean hitting on one side. There are falling rocks on the other side. It’s dangerous. I can become one of these rocks and roll down to the water and disappear. I walk through the path but I’m again going from one room to another. And again in that breakfast morning table.

I had to wake up and it was today’s morning. No sun salutation. We went downstairs and had a continental breakfast and then it was time to just sit down in the carpet with our coffee. They call this ritual the silent good morning. It consists of silently saying good morning to everything around us.

No thoughts. But I thought of my dream. If this happens, they allow us to walk and find the things we want to say good morning to. So I went for a walk. It was strange to realise that the dream was getting closer to here. I was walking from a room to another room. It was kind of there. What changes are the faces. The ones from my dream are being erased. And here there is only new people. […] I just came from the bath. Today’s soap was made of coconut and some sort of peanuts. The others were as quiet as usual. We all waited to enter the round tub. The water was extra hot.

Be careful the woman helping me to get inside the bathtub said. So I obeyed. I carefully entered into my time of being in the smokey pool. That moment of going from dry to wet, from gravity to floating. You can stay inside as long as you want but it’s almost burning so we all have enough quickly. Then comes the showers walkway. High pressure and different temperatures. And finally the drying area and the lying down room. […] There was an exam today.

There is still a coconut smell.