Remainder (Liora Pauses)

Liora stops.

Nothing demands her attention. No river, no forest, no others, no door, no ruins, no horizon. The moment is sparse: air, light, and subtle motion. Even her own movement has quieted to near stillness. The scene is almost empty, yet fully present.

She notices the faint stir of wind, the rhythm of breath, the play of light across surfaces that are otherwise unremarkable. Nothing is figured as challenge, opportunity, or destination.

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You may attend to one aspect of this remainder:

• Persistence: notice what continues despite the absence of events.

• Inadmissibility: notice what cannot be taken up, acted upon, or changed.

• Nothing in particular: allow attention to drift, to register presence without selection.

Each stance reveals a different cut of this stillness, each entirely admissible.

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If you attend to persistence

Small movements, barely perceptible, continue: shadows shift, dust swirls, Liora breathes. There is rhythm without narrative, continuity without intentionality. What persists is not a story, but the ongoing actuality of being. Stability exists without norm or agreement, quietly in the background of perception.

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If you attend to inadmissibility

Some things cannot be grasped, acted upon, or entered. Liora notices edges that cannot be crossed, gaps that cannot be filled, weight that cannot be lifted. These limits are not failures; they are simply present. The scene contains what is excluded as fully as it contains what is allowed.

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If you attend to nothing in particular

Attention drifts. The world is present in its totality, without segmentation. No cut is required. No action is necessary. Awareness itself is enough. In this suspension, meaning is not absent; it is unconstrained, unbound, and relationally distributed across presence.

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Liora remains.

The series of cuts concludes not in narrative resolution, but in release.

She is neither acting, reacting, nor observing in the usual sense. She is with the world, perceiving without needing to organise, intervene, or interpret.

All that remains is admissible.

All that is alive continues to be so.

No further cuts are necessary.

Horizon (Liora at the Shifting Edge)

Liora steps to the edge of a landscape that stretches beyond sight.

Hills and valleys roll outward, their forms dissolving into mist. The line where earth meets sky is never fixed. Light shifts, air moves, and with each step the apparent boundary slides imperceptibly away. The horizon is present, yet never reachable, always reconfiguring according to vantage, attention, and weather.

She breathes in, feeling the vastness, the indeterminacy, the pull of what lies beyond, and realises that the landscape is not a scene to cross, nor a picture to apprehend. It is a field of possibilities.

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You may attend to one aspect of the horizon:

• Near/far: notice how proximity shapes perception, how distance affects the edges of what is present.

• Movement: attend to the changes that occur as you shift weight, gaze, or posture.

• Limit: attend to the line where the world seems to end, and observe how it recedes, dissolves, or reappears.

No stance captures the horizon completely. Each stance reveals different admissible cuts.

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If you attend to near/far

The immediate foreground—rocks, grass, small trees—claims attention. Patterns of light and shadow emerge. The distant hills recede into ambiguity. What is near is tangible and acted upon; what is far is suggested and relational. The horizon becomes a gradient rather than a line. Liora perceives that stability is scale-dependent, that presence does not require completeness.

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If you attend to movement

Every shift—her own, of wind, of cloud—alters the scene. The hills tilt, mist curls, light catches leaves differently. The horizon changes shape with each micro-movement. Stability is experienced not as constancy, but as recurring relationality: patterns emerge, dissolve, and re-emerge without fixed form.

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If you attend to the limit

The horizon beckons, but does not invite. It is a line without a past, without a future, without teleology. Each step reconfigures the boundary; it recedes even as she approaches. She notes the edge, not to conquer it, but to perceive its shifting admissibility. The horizon is a phenomenon experienced relationally, not a destination to achieve.

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Liora stands, aware that no step completes the horizon, no observation fixes it.

The landscape persists in flux, but in ways that allow her presence to be taken up, accommodated, and enacted moment by moment.

She is neither aligned with the horizon, nor lost to it. She is within it, continuously actualising her cuts.

Nothing resolves, nothing concludes. And yet, the horizon is alive in each stance she takes.

Memory (Liora at the Ruins)

Liora walks among the ruins.

Stone walls rise here and there, fractured, leaning. Wood beams have collapsed, leaving shadows that shift with the wind. Nothing is marked. Nothing explains itself. She cannot know what was built, who built it, or why. The past is neither absent nor present; it is simply unavailable.

She steps carefully, noting fragments of function that are only partially readable: a column base suggesting height, a doorway partially blocked, a hearth without fire. These fragments offer potential but never certainty. She does not search for meaning in them, only notes their affordances.

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You may attend to one aspect of the ruins:

• Traces: notice the physical imprints, the textures, the fragments of structure.

• Reuse: imagine how something might be used now, regardless of its original function.

• Present affordance: observe what the ruins make possible for Liora in this moment.

No stance reveals the history. Each stance reveals something else about what is now.

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If you attend to traces

Each mark, crack, or eroded corner carries a memory—but not a story. The wall remembers weight, erosion, and pressure, but it does not recount events. Liora runs her hand lightly across the stone. Patterns emerge, irregular, incomplete. The past is not absent; it is untranslatable. What remains is a system of traces that can be interacted with but never fully recovered.

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If you attend to reuse

Liora moves a loose plank, sets a stone, leans a branch against a fragment of wall. Possibilities arise. What was once a threshold becomes a seat, a resting place, a barrier to mark a path. The ruins are plastic in action, responsive to immediate engagement rather than historical fidelity. Each enactment produces novelty without invoking intention.

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If you attend to present affordance

The ruins suggest motion, rhythm, and positioning. Liora steps through the spaces between stones, noting where she can place her weight, where she can balance, where she can pause. The environment is not instructional, but it is conditional: it admits some actions, excludes others. The ruins are a field of possibilities enacted moment by moment, alive in the present.

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Nothing is explained. Nothing is recovered. No lesson is offered.

And yet, in attending to traces, reuse, or affordances, Liora perceives a system of possibility. Stability exists not in shared memory but in the ongoing enactments of what can be done.

She steps carefully, aware of the continuity between past absence and present engagement.

The ruins do not belong to history alone. They belong to the moment, continuously actualised.