LIMINAL BODY
Here, the work goes inward and downward. Each rite takes back something the last one left you: your voice, your appetite, your movements, the habit of telling yourself apart from the others. You consent to every step, a little more emptied each time, until the day the vessel with your number is put out while you watch, and you understand it was always going to be. The clinical white softens into candlelight and old fresco, and at the lowest point a figure stands with its eyes already covered, the place the system promises you will arrive. They call that place The Field, and they say no one who reaches it is lost, but no one who reaches it comes back to say otherwise.
The work goes inward and downward. Each rite takes back something, until the vessel with your number is put out while you watch. They call that place The Field: no one who reaches it is lost, but no one comes back to say otherwise.