Threshold…

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We live with hidden presences.

The village street, its air heavy under the hot sun, its surface baked hard beneath our feet, is lined with dwellings.

Vessels of the, as yet, unknown…

Before we enter any one of these home-steads we are confronted by a labyrinth painted in brightly coloured sand.

As the morning sun rose through the sky the Mistress of the House laid out this elaborate design and we cannot now enter her dwelling without passing through this pattern, the new focus, of those auspicious natural forces.

A protective screen now guards the home.

We cannot see that screen, we can only see the focus.

A reflection of the inner workings of cosmos has been externalised at the boundary: that line which divides inner and outer; the pure form from the purely chaotic or accidental.

The boundary is always fraught with danger.

It represents the primal division…