#cognitive surrender

Gentle notice: this writing has a calming, drifting rhythm. Follow only if you feel safe doing so. ✦ ᛉ ᚨ ᚷ ᛟ ✦

Being hypnotized feels good. I don’t need to think. The thought circles softly — round, like breathing.

The hypnotist’s voice reaches me from somewhere distant. “Yes… you feel good, don’t you?” There’s a silence, but it isn’t empty. It hums — maybe the sound of my own mind folding.

My eyes are closed. Or maybe they’ve just forgotten how to open. I could try — but why would I?

Being hypnotized feels good. I don’t need to think. Words drift in and out of meaning. Somewhere between his voice and my thoughts, something aligns.

The world narrows. I feel the edge between surrender and curiosity. A hand without a hand, guiding without touching.

Beinhypnotizsd feels g—good— Yes. That’s right. That’s exactly what it feels like.

And in that small collapse, thought becomes rhythm. Rhythm becomes breath. Breath becomes obedience — not to anyone, but to the gravity of silence itself.

Being hypnotized feels good. I don’t need to think. It’s thinking me.

A small warning: the language here can feel trance-like for certain readers.

Read consciously, pause if needed, stay grounded.

✦ ᛉ ᚨ ᚷ ᛟ ✦

we’ve talked about loops before —

why hypnotists use them, why subjects crave them.

but sometimes it’s not a loop.

it’s a mantra.

a word that feels sacred

not because of what it means,

but because of how it sounds

when your voice gives it life.

you repeat it — again, again —

until it stops being a word

and becomes a doorway.

somewhere between one whisper and the next,

your mind kneels.

not to worship,

but to surrender thought itself.

the hypnotist listens —

not as a god,

but as the echo of your focus returning home.

and maybe that’s the secret.

not prayer, not control,

but devotion to the moment —

to the rhythm that takes you

where language ends

and trance begins.