awakened from the stupor of breath

where the eye leads our breath will follow and then the body recognizes what for a time it has forced to forget. what lies in the middle of the empty core that grotowski so persistently dug up. a little confirmation of the void. the void that could only bring about death to what he has fought for most of his life. confronted with nothing? how was this so when he had always thought and pondered upon the meaning of his own struggles? when he has given up everything else but this meaningless task of skinning an onion. till death do part and till sickness unto death. death it was that stared at his face. nothing fantastic and then at that single moment of perverted comprehension he gave up, awaking to stupor of his own breath