Liminal Space

I am inviting each of us into using this transition deliberately. This moment can be a call to find greater presence to our lives as they are now, amidst the anxiety and uncertainty.

Life as we knew it ended over a year ago (to one degree or another), and we adjusted to a new way of life. Now, in many ways that way of life is ending (to one degree or another). The future is always unknown, of course, but the facades of predictability have crumbled so much over the past year—as we all lived through this totally unprecedented, once-in-a-century global pandemic—and life in general feels more uncertain than ever.

We are going through an experience that mystics, spiritual teachers, and psychologists call a liminal space. Liminal comes from the Latin word “limen,” which means “threshold.” It describes a moment of transition. Initially, liminal space can feel frightening. It is a period of ambiguity or uncertainty between when one thing ends but a new thing hasn’t yet replaced it. It’s the muck in the cocoon when the caterpillar is no longer a caterpillar but also not yet a butterfly.

Liminal spaces can also be times of deep, spiritual and psychological significance. For a year I lived and worked in the contemplative community founded by Franciscan Priest Richard Rohr in New Mexico. He talked a lot about liminal space and encouraged us to look for it in our lives, and to relish it and not fear it. In a liminal space, Rohr says, “we are betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown. There alone is our old world left behind, while we are not yet sure of the new existence. That’s a good space where genuine newness can begin. Get there often and stay as long as you can by whatever means possible….This is the sacred space where the old world is able to fall apart, and a bigger world is revealed. If we don’t encounter liminal space in our lives, we start idealizing normalcy. The threshold is the waiting room [of the Divine]. Here we are taught openness and patience.”

To embrace liminal space, we have to be able to hold the tension and discomfort of the moment, we have to be able to make peace with not knowing, with being in process. We have to be patient and relinquish control. Richard Rohr used to say that only suffering is enough to make us relinquish control.

Liminal space—transitions—can be a vulnerable time. They are tender. They are awkward. And they’re necessary. They are what allow us to grow, to shift, to expand. These transitions in our lives can be a space of opportunity. Moments when we’re in liminal space can feel  both freeing and restricting. They can feel both spacious and claustrophobic. They can be a time of both anxiety and blessing. But we have to approach them consciously and with presence to feel their full purpose. Otherwise we simply resent and fear them.

Each day, we pass twice through a natural liminal space, which is twilight: when it’s not fully dark, but also not daylight. It’s my favorite time of day, because of the quality of light in that threshold moment. (It’s also called blue hour because the changeling, liminal light is so thoroughly and dynamically blue.) Recognizing the rich beauty in this period each day, and pausing to notice it, helps me remember to honor the other liminal spaces and transitions I find myself in, and to be conscious about finding a sense of reverence for them, too.

I am inviting myself—and each of you—into using this transition, whatever it looks like to you, deliberately. This moment can be a call to find greater presence to our lives as they are now, amidst the anxiety and uncertainty. And through presence, through deeply tuning in and holding the tension of the moment, I want to invite us into finding a clearer sense of purpose and more life-giving ways of being in the moment. In my next post, I’ll share another framework to think about this and make this moment in our lives very conscious and meaningful, even amidst the anxiety.