2 days of captivity in Berlin's Residenz Avalon at the hands of Maîtresse Nuit
Suppose your deepest desire is to be taken away, to be held captive, to forget the limitations of your life.
Thrown into the womb of the earth, you may slowly merge with the rhythm of your blood pulsing in your veins and explore, in the emptiness of time erased, the boundless freedom of egolessness.
Led into the labyrinth by your mentor and Mistress, you are to endure the stripping away of irrelevant layers.
In the solitude of dark chambers, in the security of chains, the chatter of the world fades: My voice is the gold thread, the pulsating life-giving path.
There is a chill in the air as you wait for the car outside the old airport. It prickles the skin of your face, awakening your senses dulled by the routines of the mundane and a heavy dose of fantasy which has been clogging your veins: a stream of images which, for being exotic and exciting are nonetheless sticky and slightly cloying.
The confines of the car are a prelude to your initiatic journey: the blindfold engulfing my smile, you are left with the scent of my perfume and my voice. You feel the vibrations of the road as I describe the blur of the suburbs leaving a trail of ashen greys and new green.
Silence… The Autobahn. Snippets of songs from time bygone, when West Berlin was a fortress embedded in the mysterious East.
“From ash and green to green and liquid steel”, Spandau's the industrial zone divided at right angles by arteries, the car finally turns into streets lined by enormous warehouses, workshops and follows a small lane until it stops. The colours are vivid in your mind's eyes: you “see” my words, your only link to the tangible outside world.
A flight of stairs, the first ones of a long series of blind steps. Soon you are chained to the horizontal bar of a steel balcony. Are you on a terrace, a deck? We have arrived at Residenz Avalon where you are to be held captive.
Alone
The texture of the air is smoother, mellow, fluid. A cold breeze animates the air and trees surrounding the lake which sing in long waves interrupted from time to time by the flight of aquatic birds.
The pink gold of the setting sun gilds the calm waters.
This is your last contact with the world.
Through corridors and rooms, guided by my voice, you enter the Underworld: the journey is slow as the volumes change around us: small and narrow, spacious, small and cushioned. A hazardous descent on a metallic staircase triggers a disquieting soundtrack: our steps reverberating through a vast, hard, very high and cold space.
You are been made to kneel before a small door as I insert industrial plugs into your ears.
Now with only the sense of touch and scent, you follow me into the labyrinth.
Narrow, low…
You feel the walls closing around you as we enter the long tunnels leading to the matrix, the womb of the edifice in which you will be symbolically entombed for 2 days.
You will be tested to your limits, stripped of more layers you knew you had, and finally, renewed.
Berlin Captivity by ©Nuit d'Or 2018