The electric chair 

Michèle Robinson



He grimaces in pain while the current passes through all his bodies.  He feels it in the deepest part of himself.  He has learned not to squirm.  It burns, but he does not cry.  He does not cry, or so little.  He knows that if he moves too much, the weld will not be effective.  It will leave cracks through which the villains will be able to infiltrate and feed on his vital energies.  He stands up and looks in the mirror.  The external image is the same, but he knows that something has disappeared for ever inside him.  Relics that brought him psychological comfort were consumed.


This loss hurts. He is mourning as he is slowly dying. It is the energy torture, one drop at a time.  But what happens while waiting? What does he do until the next session on the electric chair?  He is part of two worlds and, until he belongs a little more to the new one and a little less to the old one, he has to walk on a very fine line.  The line of madness, between two opposing times, that makes him loses his points of reference. However, he realizes that he now knows things which he previously ignored.  Veils are being torn down and a new form of knowledge wants to manifest itself and to materialize.
To speak! Speaking relieves him of this energy which wants to come out.  When he speaks, things become clearer.  He feels reborn when he speaks, when he exchanges with  others who are undergoing the same fate. He finally rediscovers a part of himself that he had forgotten. The one that vitalizes him, the one that gives him wings.  The one that allows him to create and who makes him discover a freedom that he had never thought possible. A space, bursting with a new energy, gives him the possibility to travel to infinity, if he knows how to overcome his fears and the doubt of his own newly acquired power.


This energy propels him towards a direction of life which he had not considered, but it manifests itself in the present moment of his daily life and is not based on any memory.  Everything becomes an opportunity to express his creativity if he allows this intelligence to flow, and strips it of its ancient forms which used to reassure him in the ignorance of former days.  The beauty of the rainbow must now be recognized for what it is: a reflection, an illusion, a waste of time.  From now on, the direct ray is the one to which he must turn his gaze, in the opposite direction of this colorful impression that used to mesmerize him.


It is the ray that comes from him and which electrifies him every time he sits down on the electric chair.