But she doesn’t know what to answer, none of her puzzles was solved, nobody actually came near to understanding what she meant. Staring at her chair, she realizes it is now made of flesh. She sits down hard, hitting the organic chair with her body, trying to hurt it.
“Look at the screen.”
A second message appears.
She answers it. Then gets up, disentangling herself from the chair.
“Look at the screen.”

The image shows a young woman dressed in black with short hair carrying a bag entering the toilet, closing the door and squatting. She remains still for a long time. Then she retrieves from the bag a small package, folded in paper. She slowly unfolds it, revealing what appears to be a black latex hood. She lets the paper fall and starts feeling the hood with her hands. Then she searches her bag and produces what appear to be earplugs, which she inserts in her ears. She begins to pull the hood over her head with care. It looks very tight and has no apparent openings. After a few minutes she is done, her head and neck fully covered. She pulls down the zip in the back of the hood. She lets her head drop and remains thus clothed and positioned for an unspecified period of time.

She is alone and she is warm, immersed. She feels her membraned face and neck and she listens to the Cage-like silence morphing into her breath, her heart. Herself. She wishes the hood were tighter, but laces take a lot of time. She flexes the muscles of her face, grins, moves her head from side to side. Eventually, she begins to detach, to let go, to let the images come. A moment becomes a place. She looks down and sees the algae at her feet, but it’s like someone else watching, another point of view, the point of view of one other. She feels it more than she imagines it, a light tremblement goes through her body, her heart pumps the earth’s sap through her vessels, she becomes a plant, a source, a self-contained energy with such purpose that frightens and humbles men. She stands hollowed of meaning, for that meaning is imposed on her by others; she stands anew, fresh, echoing her pure self. She doesn’t have to do anything, she just is.
Now she is ready. Once again.

The image shows an empty street. The rain has stopped. There are no shadows. There is only waiting.