Of Liminal Space
In that liminal space, between what we know and what we can’t imagine, we are remade. –ludwig.guru
Standing in front of a closed door reminds me of mystery. What is behind the door? Who might be on the other side of the door? What does the door open into….a large open room? A hallway? Another door?
As I look down at my feet as they face the door, ready to cross over into mystery, I am in “liminal space.”
I am not fully “here”, since I am on my way;
I am not yet fully “there” when I stand in the pause.
As a widow heading into my second year without my beloved husband I am no longer in my old life. Liminal space feels like I am floating…sometimes aimless, other times forcing activity to prove to myself that I am “okay.”
I am not yet fully who I am becoming in this new life.
The widowed life, a life in transition, offers many doors at which to pause, wonder, and pass through.
There are times when I stubbornly want to resist any.more.changes.
Sometimes I rail at transitions—especially when life feels unfair.
It helps.
It helps to say “ouch” when I feel like it’s all too much.
At other times it helps to push forward and focus on the change as a distraction from my discomfort.
My current plan is “noticing.”
Noticing the direction of my life from the broad view.
Noticing direction.
Does this transition require climbing? Am I rising above something? Do I need to ask for help?
Am I descending? In the descending, is it purposeful? Am I moving down into my unconscious? Making discoveries as I look within?
Throughout my lifetime I most often find something lovely about mystery.
On a good day, it is adventure.
On a bad day, it may require that I stand before that threshold a little while longer. I may pause, or change direction.
Whatever I do, it becomes part of the process. There’s no “right way” to traverse the path of grief.
There is just each of us, finding our own way as best we can.
