Liminality
wondering how to find life in the middle of survival mode
I’m writing within the collision of late summer and autumn, where pumpkin spiced everything is everywhere, pressuring us to leap headlong into the next season. Meteorological fall begins September 1st and the autumn equinox on the 22nd. Mere days ago we were sweating in the sweltering heat, wondering if it was too hot and dry to plant new trees. And here I sit, having dug out every fleecy layer, huddled over a mug of tea, as I fight the temptation to turn on the furnace. The sun and warmth return tomorrow while the leaves begin to turn golden. I reflect on these liminal spaces often, especially at seasonal transitions, as it feels like we’re always in between something and something else. And perhaps between where we were and the idealized where we want to be. Or where we want to stay and where we don’t want to go. I feel the push and pull as an incessant buzz of anxiety in my veins while I fight to simply be in the moment I’m actually in. (By the way, I’m exhausted. Can you relate?)
A few weeks ago I went on a solo day trip into the Rocky Mountains with the singular aim of delighting in the burgeoning fields of fireweed. It felt like a luxurious rebellion. Yet, I could feel Worry in the passenger seat, with Longing fidgeting in the back. They were simultaneously pulling me into the past and the future while my desperation grew. Can I not have a moment to breathe? Instead of pulling the car over and scolding them for dragging me into their exasperating tug of war, I invited them to join me in the ease of the ever-fleeting now - into an integrated, unified now. I thought of all I brace for, the weight of all I continue to carry, and I had this clarified awareness that Joy, Peace and Hope are only truly accessible right here. Right this second. Not a minute ago, not 3 years from now, or once we’ve figured this thing out and fixed that other thing and got those things done, but in this moment. And this one.
And this one.
As I coaxed my clenched knuckles to unwind around the steering wheel, moving my eyes outward into the foothills, I played a game of I-Spy with myself. Green trees. Blue sky. Brown cows. Simple, playful noticing. I could feel the growing spaciousness of every millisecond - the liminal space between there and here and somewhere being the only thing that began to matter (and the only one I had any kind of “control” over). I asked Worry and Longing if we might find some ease and enjoy - without any pressure or expectation - what was right in front of us. Turns out they were tired of their toiling too. Fuzzy big-horned sheep. Shimmering water. Snow-white Yarrow.
Ah yes, there is Delight too. Here.
The reality is we live with demands upon demands, stressors upon stressors. They come from our past and our future. There’s so much work to do, so many ways we are being pulled, and within all of it a mindfulness practice feels like a nice thing people who already have found peace get to participate in. But here, in the sandwiched days of latesummermeterologicalfallautumnequinox, I have hit another breaking point. I keep trying to muscle my way through until I can’t. Even then, in the shambles of striving, I somehow still keep blowing past my limits… because I feel there’s no other choice. Yet, in survival mode I only truly have here. A life lived perpetually in survival mode eventually leaves us with only here. And maybe that’s a good thing, although a rather excruciating end of the road to reach.
I reached the Fireweed and it was like a time machine. The bursts of fuchsia a wormhole into now. My attention completely consumed with enjoying their splendour, gratitude both expanding and freezing the moment. Every part of me, wholly onboard.
I carried on, further into the pass, where the highest elevation gave the most brilliant show. An entire mountain was dotted with bursts of purple portals. I walked among the ones in the bottom of the valley, along a trickling stream and I whispered, thank you, over and over again.
Closer to home, the fireweed has now gone to seed so it feels perhaps a little contradictory to return to that day when I’m talking about being present. But I want to invite myself into the remembrance of the possibility of here and now. Not racing ahead or scrambling to catch up. It’s not easy. There is an “old wives’ tale” that the blooms at the top of the Fireweed signal the imminent end of summer. Their beauty connected with lament, loss and the feeling that we are running out of time. I suppose, in some ways we are but there’s nothing we can do about it save for not running on ahead of it. Maybe the liminality of everything erases the pressure of time… if we could only surrender to it. On that summer day I made my little adventure a practice of presentness, successfully bringing Worry and Longing into the space where Wonder was our guide. This is the space I long to inhabit as often as possible so that life feels a whole lot less like surviving, a desperate leap from here to there. Because - here - within all this utterly uncomfortable liminality, there is a whole life to live. Survival or something more like thriving, this is my life and I want to live it.
I returned to my Fireweed time machine last weekend to observe where it was in its cycle. In the lower elevations it has long gone to seed, the pop of purple given way to fleecy white tops and maroon hued leaves. Up in the mountains they are on their way but with a bloom still here and there. Today is a day where I don’t feel like I have time for now so I resist the urgency I feel and the visceral discomfort I’m holding in my body to choose alignment. The following artwork is my response to this. And full disclosure, I couldn’t shake that anxiety this time. But I kept showing up despite it. In the mess of it. I value this practice of presentness so I must actively choose to engage in it - not when I feel like I’m allowed to, but here, in the middle of surviving. Maybe one day, even in the hard things, it’ll feel more like thriving.
Reflections for your own wandering/wondering:
Do you feel like you have no choice but to keep muscling through life in survival mode too? Could you offer yourself some validation today? Life can be so hard.
Where can you loosen your grip, if even a little, to invite more ease into your life?
What gracious act of self-compassion could you enter into today to practice being present in the middle of *everything*. What could be your wormhole into the spaciousness of every liminal moment? An I-spy walk? A timer set for 1 minute while you ground your feet, hands over your heart, and breathe? May you be surprised by Hope, Love, Joy, Delight and Wonder.
Thank you for the share of the beauty around you and sharing your big wonderful vulnerable heart. Huge hug from Peru.
liminality! thankyou for moving me out of feeling i know it all too well and wish it would stop, to realising it is a constant, a symptom of the universe (thankyou black sabbath), in reality every space and time is liminal, only the artificial structures of human society seek to exclude it, to maintain status quo for the benefit of the ruling class... it is popping up for me a lot on here today, i see liminal, i click. it is also in my page's subtitle thingie. i love that you mentioned sometimes despite our best efforts to momentise, we can't, but i feel we are still moving toward the essence, the now, we are perhaps feeling trapped in the liminal, yet we have a vector, a trajectory, not necessarily linear at all, as nebulous as time and space, and in honouring that we may just accept the imperfection in the moment, and in ourselves...