A journey through threshold spaces. Your body will know each one before your mind does. You'll move through doorways, bridges, and pathways that exist somewhere between here and there. Each crossing asks something different of you.
Let the images carry you forward. You'll cross something real just by witnessing them.
Walking the Threshold Path
A COMPANION to the threshold narrated audio
There’s a moment before you decide
Suspended in time, neither in nor out. You can feel the air around you shift and the ground underneath you change. Your breath shortens and light bends.
You don’t call it a threshold until later. In the moment, it’s only the pause that asks what you’re willing to leave behind.
The Pause
You stand before the
Wet stone under your feet, cool air ahead. Your body knows this is a beginning before your mind agrees. Step through.
Stone Archway
First contact
essay
The first threshold doesn’t wait for you to recognize it.
It catches you in motion.
You thought you were just walking. It was just a path, nothing unusual.
Then your shoulders pulled in without warning.
The tunnel changed your voice - softer, flatter.
At the doorway, your steps faltered before you understood why.
Your body knew first.
There was nothing to name it, only the way the air thickened as you moved.
Your breath stuttered, uneven, before settling into a rhythm you didn’t trust.
Light bent in a way that made you look again.
Your voice dropped and came back altered.
You were already inside before you knew you’d arrived.
The path continues to water. You step onto the Arch Bridge and your feet find the rhythm the canopy first taught you. Arch after arch, the pattern your shoulders learned becomes walking. You cross without counting steps.
01 Arch bridge
02 Tuscan Stairs
The bridge ends at stone steps carved into a hillside.
worn smooth by others who walked here. You climb without thinking about climbing. Each step changes your breathing. By the time you look up, you're already halfway.
At the top, the Path to Sea curves through grass and stone. Your pace matches the ground beneath you – rise and fall, rise and fall. Ocean waits ahead but your feet focus on what's directly in front. The walking carries itself now.
03 Path to Sea
Once You Start Crossing
essay
Your body finds its own pace before you do.
You take one step, then another. You don’t pause to think about it. The rail appears under your hand without you looking for it. Your foot adjusts when the surface changes. Your eyes give up their search and settle on what’s directly in front of you.
You never agreed to this.
The questions you carried - what if, what then - drop away behind you.
It doesn’t feel like change at all. It feels like the steady repetition of walking, until you notice something has already shifted.
You realize you crossed only when you turn around and see the space you’ve left behind.
Time stretches. Your weight shifts between your feet but you don't step forward. Don't step back either. After all the movement, this stillness. Standing here this long becomes its own choice.
Split Door, half open.
The path brings you to a
with nothing between them. One more step would carry you through but you stop just before crossing. Your chest tightens before you understand why. The openness feels dangerous after so much enclosure.
You move past the door to two Stone Pillars
The alley opens to a familiar Graffiti Door – weathered wood, paint layered on paint, a hinge that doesn't sit right. You've passed doors like this before but this time you stop. Reach for the handle. Stay there long enough to feel the weight of choosing whether to pull.
02 Graffiti Door
You step through the pillars into a narrow Alley. Walls lean close on both sides. Sound softens around you. After the open gate, this containment feels like breathing in. You could turn around but you don't. Your body moves forward.
01 alley
03 iron gates
Beyond the door, ornate Iron Gates stand open to a courtyard. The gates are as they always are but this time your foot moves forward and stays. You haven't stepped through, not fully. Even open, they hold you at the threshold.
Beyond the door, ornate Iron Gates stand open to a courtyard. The gates are as they always are but this time your foot moves forward and stays. You haven't stepped through, not fully. Even open, they hold you at the threshold.
The alley opens to a familiar Graffiti Door – weathered wood, paint layered on paint, a hinge that doesn't sit right. You've passed doors like this before but this time you stop. Reach for the handle. Stay there long enough to feel the weight of choosing whether to pull.
02 Graffiti Door
You step through the pillars into a narrow Alley. Walls lean close on both sides. Sound softens around you. After the open gate, this containment feels like breathing in. You could turn around but you don't. Your body moves forward.
01 alley
03 iron gates
Beyond the door, ornate Iron Gates stand open to a courtyard. The gates are as they always are but this time your foot moves forward and stays. You haven't stepped through, not fully. Even open, they hold you at the threshold.
The gates are as they always are but this time your foot moves forward and stays. You haven't stepped through, not fully. Even open, they hold you at the threshold.
Beyond the door, ornate Iron Gates stand open to a courtyard.
The Decision
essay
You can stand at the same threshold for days. Weeks. The weight shifts from foot to foot until your hips ache. Your hand reaches toward the handle, stops, drops and then reaches again. The hesitation settles into your muscles, carried in the same ache each time you repeat it.
You’ve counted the steps. Your chest tightens in the same spot every time you imagine moving forward. Breath shortens the same way, every time.
Almost has its own weight - heavy, unfinished, lodged in your chest.
It comes with a cost. The body paying for holding still when it’s ready to move. The tension that builds in your shoulders, your jaw, the space behind your eyes.
Some part of you is already through. Has been through for months. The rest of you is still learning how to follow.
You pass through the gates and the ground begins to rise. At the hill's crest, stone forms an arch –
– framing sky beyond. The shape doesn't change but your body registers it differently. The air thins. Light sharpens. Your body feels the shift before your mind does.
Glastonbury Tor
earth meets water. The ground gives way beneath your feet with each step. More water fills your vision. You didn't decide to arrive here. You just followed the path until there was nowhere left to go.
The Lighthouse stands where
the path leads down from the tor toward the edge of land.
quiet and soft. Snow muffles everything around you. Trees lean just enough to shape the path without crowding. After all the stone and wood and metal, this gentleness. The road stays clear beneath your feet. You keep walking because here the path carries you.
The Snowy Road curves ahead
A final path appears, different from all the others.
standing in it. Turn around once to see the distance you've traveled, then face forward again. The road continues ahead.
but you're not the same person
You pause. The same pause that started this journey,
Sacred
Listen while Crossing playlist
Jóhann Jóhannsson — Flight From The City
Arvo Pärt — Spiegel im Spiegel
Max Richter — On the Nature of Daylight
Sigur Rós — Samskeyti
Lisa Gerrard & Pieter Bourke — Sacrifice
Nils Frahm — Says
Explosions in the Sky — Your Hand in Mine
Ólafur Arnalds — Near Light
Hildegard von Bingen (Sequentia) — O Euchari
Philip Glass — Opening (Glassworks)
Listen
(indie / ambient)
(indie / ambient)
living
Listen while Crossing playlist
Grouper — Living Room
Julianna Barwick — The Harbinger
William Tyler — Highway Anxiety
Brian Eno — An Ending (Ascent)
Low — Especially Me
Harold Budd & Brian Eno — First Light
Balmorhea — Remembrance
Marisa Anderson — The Fire This Time
Boards of Canada — Dayvan Cowboy
Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith — An Intention
Listen
Copyright © 2025 by Sherry Lynn
Photography by Sherry Lynn
Zine design by Stephanie Elizabeth
All rights reserved.
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NARRATION
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