Word of the Day: Liminal
So, I have been avoiding writing this post for the last week because no matter what I write here, I always seem to bring up my father's death, and well, I fear that you are thinking, "God she is so fucking depressing with all this death shit." And if you are, I can't blame you. I am feeling this way a bit about my self and my life too. There is a part of me that just wants to GET ON WITH THE FUTURE, and yet, here I am again...
And that brings me to the word of the day: Liminal (I feel like Stephen Colbert writing that). Defined by most dictionaries, as a threshold, and seen a bit more expansively by the world of mythology and depth psychology as a place that is in-between, no-man's land, neither here nor there. Liminal is that uncomfortable place where the old ways are dying, and the new ones have not yet been born.
Marilyn Ferguson, puts it quite well when she says, "Its not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between we fear...It's like being in between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold onto."
No matter how much of me wants to move on to my future, get on with my "new" life after my dad's death, I keep getting reminded by my psyche that I am living in the zone of the in-between. I start to get revved up about projects I had begun before he died (new life coaching clients, a one-woman show, leading workshops around the world), only to find myself unsure about what it was about those projects that are meaningful to me now. Or, on the other side of it, when I feel ready to jump into a new routine, start fresh and re-invent myself (yoga, writing and speaking publicly, pod-casting), I feel bogged down by the unfinished business of grieving what is gone and no longer with me. I can't go back and I can't go forward. I am stuck in the middle with me.
Although being here is irritating, I also know it is necessary. There is no transformation without this icky part of the process. As we all know, there is no butterfly without that gooey, amorphous cocooning that happens to the caterpillar. God, I hate that.
A few months ago, when I was invited to join this online community, I thought, yes, now I can jump in and talk about the big paradigm shift that is happening on this planet, the leap that consciousness is about to take. I will throw myself into my passion about this and be a resource for people to learn about the ground-breaking work of individuals and organizations that are pulling us forward into What Is Next. With the election of Obama, and the continuing disintegration of our infrastructure, I knew that the time was ripe for this conversation, what I like to call Waking from the American Dream. I, like this country, see growth, expansion and the big What Is Next, as the only things that can make me feel good. Living my own Manifest Destiny is the job of the ego, whether it is my ego or the nation's.
But instead, here I am, stuck and confused, changed but not quite sure what to do next, humbled by the power of death, and yet still alive enough to feel the force of hope. And I look out my window at this world and can't help but think that maybe this sharing of my grief and confusion is part of the conversation that America needs right now too. And that my best laid plans are just that, and that every thing that every one of us planned for this year, or this time in are lives, have dissolved in our hands faster than we could imagine.
Maybe feeling stuck and confused and offering my pain up to you, is a mirror to where we all are right now - alone and yet together, here, in the liminal awaiting the natural time when clarity will come, and the next step will be obvious. But until then, I will be patient with my process, I will be patient with the process, and I hope that we can all sit with each other in this country and be patient with its process too.
Loading comments…
Want to reply to a comment? Hint: Click "Reply" at the bottom of the comment; after being approved your comment will appear directly underneath the comment you replied to
Dear Kelly,
I remember well when my Dad died in December of '99 and how that grief lingered seemingly forever. I became so impatient with it. I felt so dramatic. Am I milking this? I scolded myself with "Enough already!" And then a very wise, compassionate and loving friend urged me in so many words to "hold my grief like a newborn baby, allow it to be, pushing it away only adds more angst, it'll last as long as it needs to last." Those words were like a balm that soothed my soul. I heeded the advice and was all the better for it.
Oh, wait, that friend was you, wasn't it?
Wishing you patience...
Gentle as you go, Kel-bella.
Amy
Amy,
Thank God we are all mirrors for each others' journeys. Thank you for your reminder. It has been received.
love,
Kelly
Hi Kelly,
Another great column! You mention so many things that evoked a response in me.
1) My dad died nine years ago tomorrow and I still experience moments of grief about his loss. I believe that it is the nature of love to feel pain at the absence of what is most precious to us.
2) There is nothing to hold on to. This is perhaps the most important truth of the universe. Everything changes all the time. Coaching and Buddhism are the two practices that I find most equip me to deal with this experience. And even this changes. Some days, I'm actually okay with it (for a second or two...)
3) I think that the world is the way it is because so many of us don't know how to deeply grieve or grow from our losses. If only we could sit with our moment to moment experience and share its rawness as eloquently and honestly as you do. Don't rush. There are numerous gems in your current experience that you will miss by forcing yourself to go where you are not yet ready to be. And trust me, I want to hear about these gems that you've discovered. Like you, they are precious and priceless. Imagine the strength and learning we would all gain by having the courage to face our own unfathomable depths. Imagine the compassion and love that could be born in those moments...
Judith
Judith,
Wow. "Imagine the strength and learning we would all gain by having the courage to face our own unfathomable depths."
I cannot, and will not try and say it any better. Yes!!
(I know it would make a crummy bumper sticker, but I would put it on my car).
Best,
Kelly
Dear Ms. Carlin-McCall:
Thank You for your beautiful writing.
I've been mourning the deaths of the Palestinians, the People of Gaza, the People of Israel who do NOT want war, the places where savagry is allowed to prevail like Darfur and even Oakland, CA where a 22-year-old was killed by a BART official when he was obviously cooperating. Now his 4-year-old Daughter, Mother, Family/Friends are left to mourn his death AND the fact that no charges have been brought.
I am in mourning for the dead servicepeople from Irag/Afghanistan, for the deaths of innocent civilians, and their grieving Families.
I am in mourning for People whom I will never know, never meet.
But, I can relate to your personal grief. I will never get over my youngest Brother's death.
It seems I've come to accept my powerlessness and yet my anger flares up when I see the news of Oscar Grant. I get upset when I hear that 7/9 witnesses have recanted their testimony and yet Troy Davis still sits on Death Row.
So many injustices. So many tragedies.
Thank You for your willingness to share with us. It does help.
Your Dad - and Mom - have given us an open, compassionate Person.
My sincere condolences.
xs10shi1,
I can hear your open and compassionate heart too. A few years ago I worked with a woman, Joanna Macy, who does grief work for the big social issues that we face here on this planet. She helps one sit with the enormous and overwhelming grief that we are all feeling for the tragedies, both natural and man-made, that befall the inhabitants of this Big Blue Ball. It is profound and courageous work to sit with the grief of the world. I commend you for having the heart to sit with it all. And I hope that there are also other ways for you to sit with it all that also allow joy to enter your heart. Both are needed in this world.
Thank you for sharing your experience here.
Best,
Kelly
Kelly:
As usual, good crisp writing. My firm opinion is that the conscious mind has very little to do with the process of getting over a loss. It seems to take its own sweet time.
Yes! And that's why it can be such a bitch. That pesky ego says, "Let's go do something else. I'm bored with this shit. Can't we go eat everything in the refrigerator now?"
Thanks for being here,
Kelly
Dear Kelly,
Wow! Well done, girl! Written from the raw, dark place of the soul. Very juicy stuff!
And so, yes, I think you're absolutely on to the What's Next, and that's taking the time to grieve whatever's lost. Not only the physical reality of your father, but the very idea of him. The idea of a father and what he stands for. And besides, it hasn't been THAT long. Give yourself a break! There is no clock punching in the grief department.
When my father died, 15 years ago, I remember feeling like the very foundation of who I am had crumbled. He had always been the one I knew had my back. Now who has it? Me? Dear God, am I enough to have my own back? That was my process.
It takes as long as it takes. The good news, my dear, is you can and DO write from that place and speak that voice that needs to be spoken to ears that need to hear what it has to say. From the Grieving Place. This too, is grist for the mill. Keep writing!
All the best and thanks for your courage,
Judith
Judith,
Thanks for coming by and checking it out!
And thank you for your insightful comments on the grief process, and my experience of it. Yes, it has not been that long, and yet some days, OY, I just want to be done.
But yes, this unstripping of our own identities that go on as we feel the loss, make it real and integrate it can feel like my skin is being flayed off. Who am I now with out this person here to define me - is a question that rolls over and over through my psyche. It is one thing to have done some good solid individuating, but it is quite another when you realize that they are just not here anymore.
And, I am so grateful for this forum to share my own thoughts and experiences, but even more grateful when they have a real impact on others. Being in conversation about life and its vicissitudes makes me hum inside.
See you around,
Kelly
Thank you so much, Kelly... my beloved father died just one month ago today and I am so definitely in that liminal state, right along with you! Your words spoke to me today, on the anniversary of his passing, and said something so important for me, right now. My sympathies on your father's death, as well; surely the depth of our sorrow is a reflection of the massive level of importance they held in our lives. Great daddies are one of life's greatest gifts, and I thank God for the memory of yours and mine.
Eva,
My deep condolences for you loss. It is a strange and ripe time - this mourning. I have found that there is no right or wrong way, just the way we do it. Let your heart lead you through it all, and you will reap the treasures that lie beneath the ordinary. There is a great David Whyte poem called The Well of Grief - http://mindfulness.ucsd.edu/PoemPrint%20folder/wellofgrief.htm - check it out.
Fathers are so important to daughters. It is a unique relationship - complicated and essential. And yes, great daddies are a huge gift.
Stay well. Be kind to yourself. And let's keep the dialogue going here. I look forward to your unfolding, and what you are here to show us about this process.
Blessings,
Kelly
What a good, solid piece of writing about how it feels without your dad. And it makes me think about what tiny parts of the universe we each are, BUT still part of the universe and whenever one of us
checks out, it's as important as a supernova. Perplexo
It's like when the quantum physicists say that every point in the universe is the center of the universe. MInd boggling and comforting.
Thanks for being here with me.
Kel
I love this one Kelly. It is a timely and apt musing on our collective emotional state. It's as if this country, perhaps the whole world, is going through perimenopause. thank you for putting words to the discomfort.
I'm a fan,
Claudia P.
Claudia,
Great to connect with you here. I love the perimenopause metaphor. I will meditate on that a bit and imagine what the country will be like once it steps into full Cronedom! Can you imagine the power of that? LOL
Best to you.
Kel - another great piece of writing
Brava!!
Caitriona
manzanitavillage.org
Caitriona,
I stand on your shoulders, as you are the one who taught me about the power of liminality as I got to witness your amazing transformation. Thank you.
Kel
You must be logged in to comment. Log in or connect with
