There is a restlessness in the space between. Without meditation or transformation, without vacation or recuperation not even expectation. A hallow void stretched out, and as commonplace as a hallway leading to the next entrance. A place so unremarkable that, once through the door, time spent in between is quickly forgotten. Conversely, while wandering the hallway, time appears to pass slowly, hopeless and unending. But it is a deceit. The moment in limbo is actually miniscule when compared to times absorbed by life.
Is liminal space a working break? A purgatory reminder – with bad comes good, with good comes bad. Maybe a detached warning?- to avoid living life is to be unfulfilled and always waiting in the hallway.