It was evening. We were together. I was hoping for something more. Honestly, I'm not even sure what exactly, but when the Master told me a few hours earlier that he was going to take care of me that day... Well. I'd imagined it very differently.
What did this "taking care of me" look like? The Master settled comfortably onto the bed and began issuing commands. Various commands. Strange ones. Meaningless ones. One after another. When he began, I was kneeling – as usual – in nadu. Barely had I completed one command before the next one came.
The first:
– Stand up.
The second:
– Turn your back to me.
The third:
– Kneel.
The next:
– Stand up again.
Then:
– Bara.
Another:
– Nadu.
Yet another:
– Stand on one leg and stay that way until I tell you that's enough.
A different one:
– Bark like a dog.
Then:
– Do five squats.
It went on for about an hour. Some of the commands were repeated from time to time. All of them were equally pointless. After the first few minutes, I began to feel irritated. After a dozen or so minutes, annoyed. By the end, I was genuinely angry and struggling not to show it openly.
The Master would've had to be blind and stupid not to notice. And yet he didn't react. He continued. Meanwhile, I was fighting with myself. My fundamental need to see meaning and purpose in everything I do was sounding every alarm. But I remained silent. I clenched my teeth. I carried out one command after another because he – my Master – was giving them. Outwardly? Without protest. Without questions. But with growing frustration inside. When's this going to end, and what's this even supposed to mean? Why's he doing this? Why are we doing this?
I didn't ask those questions out loud. Instinctively, I sensed that this wasn't the moment for questions. That if I spoke, I'd lose. I didn't know exactly what, or with whom. To him, or to myself? I also knew that I probably wouldn't have received an answer at that moment anyway.
Eventually, silence fell. No new command came. I froze in place. I waited for quite a while. Nothing happened. Finally, I gathered my courage and asked, as calmly and politely as I possibly could:
– Why were you giving me all those commands, Master? Was it some kind of test?
– No. It was a lesson. I am pleased. You carried out every command immediately and without hesitation, despite your reluctance.
– A lesson in what, Master?
– In the fact that a command does not need a purpose in order to have value. The value of a command is obedience itself.
And then I understood. Giving and carrying out commands isn't always about a goal. It's about rhythm. About a state of "yes" that doesn't require justification. Being a slave doesn't simply mean serving. It means serving someone who has the right not to explain. The moment I realize this frees me inwardly more than any logic ever could. All my irritation and anger vanish instantly. I walk over to the Master and kiss his hand.
– Thank you for this lesson, Master – I say.