Life in Liminality

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BALCONY BARDO: Life in LIMINALITY

For this piece I used a technique called ‘felted wool painting.’ It is a laborious process, and each one takes upwards of 20 hours to complete. I source my wool from a small family farm in North Dakota which is committed to providing their beloved sheep with a natural and joyful life.

Inspiration:

As a culture, we have no idea what to do with liminal space. Think: transitions, processes, “not still there, but not quite here” times of life. Extreme examples including nursing homes and hospitals—we put our “in between” citizens far away from view so we don’t have to think about them.

Perhaps those spaces are so scary because they’re uncertain, as Mystic Christian theologian Richard Rohr writes:

Liminal space is an inner state and sometimes an outer situation where we can begin to think and act in new ways. It is where we are betwixt and between, having left one room or stage of life but not yet entered the next. We usually enter liminal space when our former way of being is challenged or changed — perhaps when we lose a job or a loved one, during illness, at the birth of a child, or a major relocation. It is a graced time, but often does not feel “graced” in any way. In such space, we are not certain or in control.

We don’t have greeting cards for transitions the way we have for losses and arrivals. We don’t know how to announce on social media that we’re in limbo, the way we boldly announce a new job or even a layoff. While our beginnings are lauded and our endings are lamented, our liminality is just….there.

But every spiritual tradition sees the liminal space as magical, transformative, even holy. The Celts called it a “thin place,” which is where we are taught how to live. Tibetans call it “the Bardo,” the intermediate gap between a death and new life. Fairy tales place the sorcerer or enchanted godmother outside of town, in the woods. Traditional stories seem to intuit the alchemy that happens on the margins.

Think about it: When you’re in the center of things, you get wrapped up in what matters to the majority. You get confused between trends and your own values. You struggle to see the center for what it really is.

But on the edge, you easily see the center’s flaws. You may still be endeared enough to hang out along the margins, but you see it all differently, and more clearly.

Richard Rohr describes a prophet: “He or she is always on the edge of the inside. Not an outsider throwing rocks, not a comfortable insider who defends the status quo, but one who lives precariously with two perspectives held tightly together -- the faithful insider and the critical outsider at the same time.”

I remember this when I find myself in an awkward, uncomfortable, in- between time...when I’m waiting for the next, but can’t go back to the last. There is transformative power here. The Druids would be worshipping me. The Celts would ask me questions.

And in New York, birds would build their house on me. Yes: birds only build their nests on the “in-between” places in New York...ledges, balconies, fire escapes, windowsills. They see these spots as part-wilderness, part- protection.

Meditation:

Observe the balconies (i.e. fire escapes) of New York and see what is placed there. More often than not, you’ll see life growing on those ledges: bird families, potted plants, a neighbor sitting outside to think. We may think of these in-between spaces as just extra or even awkward—what chair is going to fit out there??—but they provide texture to NYC’s landscape and oases for animals and perfect places to add just a bit of beauty in the form of basil in terra cotta pots. What is growing in your own liminal space?