“The beauty of nature insists on taking its time. Everything is prepared. Nothing is rushed. The rhythm of emergence is a gradual slow beat always inching its way forward; change remains faithful to itself until the new unfolds in the full confidence of true arrival. Because nothing is abrupt, the beginning of spring nearly always catches us unawares. It is there before we see it; and then we can look nowhere without seeing it.”
-John O’Donohue in To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings
Over the past few weeks, I’ve had robins join me on my walks by Dry Creek. A single robin will land on the path ahead, scurry, and hop along the path. Each time the robin has been unconcerned by my presence, I’ve been quite close, but the robin bops along the path, stopping to munch on an insect, aware yet unaware of my closeness. Inevitably, the robin will land on a branch, sometimes high, sometimes low, and sing a robiny song. The first time was fun; the second, third, and fourth times made me more curious. I’ve walked that path often over the years. However, this is the first time I’ve had such an encounter with the ubiquitous robin.
On my walks, I’ve been pondering the liminal space in which I find myself living. I’ve completed the active parts of my breast cancer treatment. I’m “done” with cancer, and yet, not, really. I’m taking medication (for the next decade) with the possibility and potential for difficult side effects that come and go without warning. My calendar now involves oncology appointments and cancer screenings. So, yes, on one hand, I’m moving past cancer; there is no longer a cancer tumor in my body (I’m so, so grateful; It’s taken a lot of hard work to get here!) But cancer doesn’t feel entirely done with me yet. I’m living in a new normal. I’m in a liminal space, a threshold from my life before cancer and my life after cancer.
Liminal space gives a name to the feelings of disorientation and wondering that visit us all at different points. Liminal comes from the Greek word “limen”-it means threshold, the place where we step over from one space to the next. Liminal space is the familiar gap between what used to be and what is yet to come.
Spring and autumn are liminal spaces. We all know the contours and invitation of the time between winter and summer and summer and winter. Spring is that transition time when days slowly lengthen, the air gradually warms, and the leaves slowly leaf. Spring is never in a rush; it takes its time. Autumn is a liminal space or threshold time that moves us in the opposite direction, shortening days, cooler air, the falling of leaves, and hibernation of growth. It is a time of transition between one reality and another, a different reality. Spring, as John O’Donohue reminds us in the quote above, “catches us unawares.” Autumn does, too. Liminal spaces are like that; they catch us unaware.
I’m working hard to let my liminal space be here for as long as I need. I’m letting the lessons come slowly, and I’m letting the grief come to the surface when it needs to. I’m thinking about the lessons, the people, the surprises, and the unexpected blessings that came into my life over the past few months since a diagnosis of cancer crashed into my life.
I’m grateful for this unexpected, deeply personal liminal space. I know it is a space to reflect and reset. Like spring and autumn, the fullness of the next season will catch me unaware on some unexpected day, but not quite yet.
Back to the robins who have been walking with me. I find great joy in exploring what myth, folklore, and indigenous wisdom have to say about unexpected or prolonged encounters with wildlife.
I was surprised and delighted to learn that robins are said to symbolize rebirth when they are unexpectedly present.
And suddenly, those robins guiding me on my walks feel less like an interesting happenstance and more like a sacred hug, wink, or guidance. My robins have been patient, unhurried, unworried, and curiously looking to the left and the right; they pause often.
The robin’s guidance through liminal space to rebirth is: look around, pause often, be curious, tilt your head and listen, look up, have a snack, and find a new branch to perch. Be unhurried; be unworried.
Liminal space, like spring and autumn, unfolds slowly, and that’s okay. Seasons can’t be rushed, and the liminal spaces of human life can’t be rushed, either.
“No threshold need be a threat, but rather an invitation and a promise. Whatever comes, the great sacrament of life will remain faithful to us, blessing us always with visible signs of invisible grace. We merely need to trust.”
-John O’Donohue in To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings
A Blessing for Liminal Space
When you unexpectedly realize you are living in a liminal space may you be reminded of the robin. In the liminal space that is spring, the robin moves along the path, pausing often, unhurried and unworried. The robin’s simple and ordinary presence is a reminder of rebirth and the new life and wisdom that comes through the struggle and challenges of winter.
John O’Donohue, in his book To Bless The Space Between Us, shares some reflections on the threshold. He suggests the following questions to consider in threshold or liminal spaces.
“At any time you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing? At this time in my life, what am I leaving? Where am I about to enter? What is preventing me from crossing my next threshold? What gift would enable me to do it?”
-John O’Donohue in To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings
John O’Donohue’s threshold questions:
At which threshold/liminal space are you now standing?
At this time in your life, what are you leaving?
Where are you about to enter?
What is preventing you from crossing your next threshold?
What gift would enable you to do it?
This song, “Takes a Little Time” by Flamy Grant, is a liminal space song. Listen and see what word or phrase sparkles. Let the words wash over you.
“It takes more than you got right now-give it, give it time”
-It Takes A Little Time
(Written by Amy Grant and Wayne Kirkpatrick)
Christine Valters Painter’s wisdom and teachings often speak to my soul. Below are a few of her thoughts on liminal space and thresholds. Read each quote slowly without a rush, and see if a word or phrase sparkles and invites you into deeper reflection.
“Thresholds, liminal space, being on the edge, living in the borderlands when we have a spirituality that is committed to exploring these rich places, is the opposite of comfortable, safe, secure boundaries, rigid and unquestioned.”
— Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, The Soul of a Pilgrim: Eight Practices for the Journey Within
“Bless the wild edges of life where safe conventions are stripped away and space is opened for new imaginings. Bless the thresholds that signal the movement from one understanding to another. Bless the holy pauses and moments when each of us can rest into what has been and prepare for what will come.”
— Christine Valters Paintner, PhD, The Soul’s Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred
Can we allow our own trajectories to be oriented in a new direction?
Often the call arrives to our own lives unbidden. Something happens which we did not expect and we need to shift our perspective to open our eyes to this new possibility. Sometimes it is an unwelcome event like death or illness. Sometimes we seek out a new adventure in our lives. Either way, a threshold is a liminal space, meaning in between places of security and knowing. On the threshold we are called to release what we thought we knew and our desire to control what is to come. It is an incredibly vulnerable place to be.
Christine Valtner Painter, PhD, Abbey of the Arts (April 15, 2015)
This is lovely and wise. Blessings in this liminal time.