Liminality is a place of movement while standing still. Odd. I know. In the liminal space, there is no going back; so there’s no moving in that direction. And the forward place is dark and murky, so there’s no knowing how to move in that direction either. Liminality expects a “staying put” until something bumps in a certain direction.
But the funny thing about the “staying put” is that movement happens anyway. Unseen, but felt. It is a stirring movement. A rearranging of inner things. It can be rattling and uprooting. Liminal movement feels disturbing because it is changing those things that felt comfortable and easy. It is movement that challenges.
But all of this moving and disturbing happens internally. There’s no running away or ignoring it; neither is there forcing it nor rushing it. If I run, it will follow and catch me another day. If I rush it, I will stumble over it and lose my way. So I stand still, waiting.
I allow the liminal space to move me while “staying put.”