Threshold conciousness

“Winding, and unwinding we go, through our selves, going one way we are ourselves, the other way, what are we? The art of ourselves? images, dreams, stories, fantasies, memories? Can we rub against our art selves as we wind around, like serpents, and let some of the pigment brush off on us? And look, where the pigment rubbed off, the skin becomes transparent, and we see through it, to another world. Much more vast. And it's looking at you.”