Navigating Liminal Space

The New Frontier

“One of the hardest things about writing is sitting down to write,” says Anne Lamott, one of my writing gurus. True that. But when I do, it’s usually because I am allowing the spark of inspiration to waft through me with the urgency of an unquenched passion. It’s as cathartic as it is satisfying but often overwhelming.

This is such a time.

The collected wisdom of several of my most treasured teachers provokes my pen today. First, author and coach Linda Joy Myers recently wrote a Substack post called Fever Dreams. Her lyricism and enigmatic imagery clung to my consciousness like the lush pigments of a diaphanous scarf.

“You will need to decide,” wrote Linda Joy, “if you are willing to enter that liminal space and allow the words to come.” Like instant karma, it was instant resonance. The liminal space. That’s it. That’s where I live now. As startling as an epiphany in the season of advent.

Indeed, exploring the meaning of liminal space is half the fun, too. Peeling the etymological onion, liminal connotes a mystical transition between two different worlds. Often characterized by uncertainty, anxiety, or ambiguity, it also suggests a threshold to something new or unknown. It can be physical, such as walking through a door or changing your residence; emotional, like ending a relationship or community affiliation, or psychological, like a shift in a state of being or consciousness.

Yes, universe. All of the above. Everything, everywhere all at once.

It’s that precarious path between the last job and the next first day, the broken heart and the next first blush, the person you were before a devastating loss and the person you are becoming. And five years after losing Mr. E, I am still deeply in the liminal. Could it be the dystopian version of the shallow? There is a before and an after, but there also is a tomorrow, perhaps an easier place to wade?

So, navigating liminal space is a little like existing in an episode of Twilight Zone or Black Mirror. Fortunately, I have devoured those shows since I was a little girl in preparation for this peculiar and perplexing place in my life. As Rod Serling says, “It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge.”

And there is always a lesson in the twist at the end.

But after more than six decades on the earth, liminal space is increasingly disconcerting. It’s a mysterious, somewhat ominous place. I feel out of sorts, disconnected, and discombobulated much of the time. My therapist says it’s because I am evolving into something new, and growth is uncomfortable.

So, my made-up word, metamournphosis, comes to mind here—conveying the process and the journey of grief. It does not imply a destination but recognizes the transformation along the way. I guess my take on liminal space is more about the long game than the endgame.

Yet, all of us as humans are constantly living in some form of the liminal—such as the time between when a child is old enough to know basic rules but too young to follow them consistently. And even more universal, there is the space between our breaths, heartbeats, and even thoughts. And the space between each second—the gaps of shared nothingness. Some meditation practices even help us amplify the spaces between.

It’s all supernatural anyway—the power of perpetual life force that bridges all those gaps automatically for everyone, everywhere—until it doesn’t anymore: so many mysteries and befuddling questions. Even in artificial intelligence, there’s a space between your generative A.I. prompt and the massive data compilation that outputs authoritative text harvested from the edges of the internet. Gobsmacking.

We’re all teetering on the precipice between now and forever.

Still, I intend to actively manifest purpose, meaning, community, and joy, but my grief-laden wiring feels a little fried right now. Add to this that the world is groaning under the weight of political polarization, fear, hate, gun violence, exploitation, global conflict, economic inequity, a continuing endemic, environmental catastrophe, and other struggles.

Let’s face it, it’s a difficult time to be a human in this world. But with a heavy sigh, I know I just have to keep swimming across that liminal lake—even when the energy to do so eludes me. How do we survive this liminal mystery tour?

For starters, we must mindfully seek moments of solace, comfort, and peace. As Nan Currey, my soul sister of more than half a century, reminds me, “It’s all about self-care, Elaine.” Yes, it’s an inside job. Every day with every breath, let’s fill the liminal space with love, hope, wonder, curiosity, empathy, humor, and alignment with the divine in all of us.

And here is the first step—reading the gorgeous words of another dear soul sister, Sue Ferguson, whom I met in a magical grief-writing group led by the amazing Linda Joy several years ago. Noticing the synchronicity, Sue shared this prayer last week, and it has become my ballast:

I Dare to Believe by Sue Ferguson

I dare to believe that there is a solution and that support, worldwide support, to save the earth and all its creatures is possible.

Hope and commonality, the sparks of generosity, and the desire to support life are possible in plurality and pluralism.

May we see our connections and how life wants more life is openly apparent and right there for the taking and giving.

Kindness toward all living creatures is demonstrated daily—let’s make it grow.

Powerful prayer and deep loving energy for healing the earth and everything that needs healing is possible.

We can move the earth, wind, fire, and water with our minds to help make this healing more powerful.

Please help and no longer allow the hurt to grow and expand. We humans, and every living being will feel the outcome of loving more.