A door, a gate. A passage to a some place I can see through the opening. Different or, perhaps, the same. The horizon. Three steps. A threshold. Between here to there, behind and ahead, close to far. On an island, as in a finite world, I am deprived of thresholds. I am unequivocally marrooned. Yet the thresholds can be ideological. Just as we make boundaries, we make thresholds. The totem beckons to any passer-by : a gate with no wall, an opening to the same as before. The totem is an invitation to consider connectedness through other forms than material connections.
