All the objects, sound, light, and image melt together with the performer. She is weaving her story with the threads “…in that silent pivoting (she) contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become her fate, created by her, combined under her memory's eye and soon sealed by death.” She becomes a perfect machinist, an inventor of her own contraption. When the cosmic circle of birth, death and rebirth is reached, little figures emerge, rising, falling and turning into a boulder as they struggle through their life journey. “…the struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart”. The shadows from an endlessly spinning zoetrope like device fill the room. “Each atom of the stone, each mineral flake of the night-filled mountain, in itself forms a world.”