Truth

Ezekiel's place is the portal for magick. It is where the circles mature to, succumbing to the trappings. Imagine living full time in an arena throbbing with icy heat and humid cold, one where the air dances off of pheromones and when your bare feet walk along the floor, your toes touch slipstream mantles. The walls undulate beneath the forest painted veneers, the mirrors throw the hauntings back to your visage. When the building door to his domain opens, you enter the perfectly drawn down capsule.

When you step back into the building corridors, the technicolor fizzles to radio static. His private world mimics his hands and his hands illustrate truth.