Many types of liminal spaces or thresholds, exist: retiring from a lifetime of work, the death of a beloved spouse or friend, even starting first grade, for that matter. Each one leads us through the twists and turns of new and uncertain ground, each one unique.
However, when we’ve lived intimately with our own impending death for some time, years, gazing across the Great Divide and preparing ourselves for that journey, then making the shift to recovery land can be extra perilous at times. We need to proceed with caution. Living with death strips us bare, beyond the bones to the very soul itself. Every breath is golden, and we know it. I eventually became open to and vulnerable even to the unspoken thoughts of others, moving in invisible realms. Moving into recovery land requires reinstating some new protective methods, just to meet life again. And that takes practice and experience. Which means time. I’m new to this.
Going cross country metaphorically speaking, some of my recent experiences talk of uncertain ground. Have you ever hiked along a high country trail, maybe a little rocky, taking in the view, feeling your heart soaring with the joy of wilderness, and suddenly you look up behind you. And realize you are in fact traversing a scree field from some previous landslide? You are too far across to turn around, and the ground begins to shed rocks and pebbles, rattling below you. In real time, this can represent a betrayal, or unseen violence touching you even from a distance, or your own reckless and overly enthusiastic nature. Even the power of unexpected love and kindness, the excitement of seeing life and not death, can rattle our balance.
For example, I recently stayed at my sister’s house in Ashland. She has a bathtub! I haven’t had a bath in over 4 ½ years. Finally, the temptation was too great, and in I slid, under blissful hot water. But then I couldn’t get out! I tried 6 times, for well over ½ hour, and fell 4 times, sweating and breathing hard from the exertion and fear, grab bars not helping. My legs were simply too weak to hold me up. I was alone. Swearing helped… I finally figured out a way to do it, my body battered and my confidence shaken. Uncertain ground.
A dear friend chided me: “You don’t need to test your limits! Be careful!” So that is, in a nutshell, a vital lesson I share with you. Probably not a good idea now to grab life with both hands! Let it come to you in its own sweet and natural way. Practice patience. Or not. Your call, of course.
Taking tentative steps into recovery land, here is another lesson I’ve learned recently: If something feels off, remotely threatening in ways that don’t make cognitive sense, back off and wait. Because we are still half in the land of the dying, extra sensitive to the max, we are not practiced or protected yet in what could be called normal life. So songs of violence, torture, and murder, for example, might not be safe. I ran into an intense moment of PTSD with no warning, just Bam! Danger in uncertain ground can be physical, psychic or spiritual in nature, and can happen in a flash. True for everyone, but death is still hovering over my left shoulder. Just makes it a little harder, is all. I called a friend here in Open Mic land, whom I guessed might know the musician and his early music. He did, threw me a climbing rope and hauled me back to stable ground, just listening and offering his take on it, providing cognitive safety. Whew! Thanks, Tom!
Note to self: add a climbing rope to my back pack of tools for this pathless path.
I wish someone had warned me of all this. So now I’m warning you. If you are friends or family of such tender, tentative souls, be aware and proceed with loving caution. That’s tricky because we also crave being seen as, well, recovering!
A friend who successfully traversed this specific liminal ground ten years ago laughed when I asked her what’s next after recovery. “Recovered!” What a concept. It’s nearly impossible to see from here, but I believe her. I seem to be on my way. Maybe.
Onward.
Shimmering Grace 