Limbo. It’s more than just a word. More than intoxicated people struggling to move their bodies past a cane placed at an unfortunately low height. More than a loose association of letters…
Limbo is a state of flux. An inbetween. A still picture of movement.
And being that even the definition of limbo cements and lineates it’s unwillingness to be pinned down and defined it is no wonder that I sit here – in awe – in an undisclosed airport and watch as masses gravitate according to unknown principles.
In Dante’s Inferno limbo is where the weaving of worlds meet. Home to some of the most profound and sentient souls. In it’s center burns an open fire, and the stories that are weaved around it tell of worlds lost kingdoms past.
In modern day airports limbo is all about getting your soya milk moccachino, tax-free Absolut Vodka and carry-on bag in synch in order to make it to Gate B34 in time to grab the Guardian before boarding closes.
We all face our individual challenges.