liminality of slow time

living in the tension of the now while allowing space for non-linear time.

oof. i’m weary down to my bones. the “big move” is friday. i sit surrounded by boxes. i sit in liminal space. appropriate for this time of year. these three days especially known for the thinness of the veil. i feel it. dream it. remind myself to drop into Slow Time so i can allow for whatever needs to stir to, well stir. be it sadness (that came when i took photos off the wall.) relief. overwhelm. appreciation. Grief. Joy…yes, that too. (i shared more about Slow Time and thin spaces in my most recent Nurture Your Journey blog post, Weaving Slow Time Into Our Lives.)

on sunday that meant gathering my collection of the feathers Crows had offered me over my years of living in this place and offering them back in ritual to the Land as gratitude. a strong sense they needed to stay here.

on monday i took my last “morning walk” in the quiet dark, Moon still fresh in her waning and Jupiter below her, both dominating the western sky. Venus lighting up the east. sky so dark for the first hour of my walk that stars still twinkled before slowly fading. a brisk wind teasing of a winter to come. a ribbon of persimmon on the horizon as i reached The Summit with Wy’East’s black silhouette etched against pre-dawn light. and at the end, a tender time of embracing each Big Leaf Maple (The Sisters,) offering my deep gratitude for all the wisdom they had rooted into my soul.

pre-dawn from “the summit,” waning moon high in the western sky, 10/30/23, photo by anne richardson

on tuesday amid packing packing packing, it meant taking time to sit, breathe, breathe, breathe, and watch the deep pink fuchsia bud. the one that has decided the end of october is not too late to try and bloom, even after temperatures had dropped to near freezing just a few days ago, reminding me Slow Time is always available if i create it.

and today, i take a few minutes to write a brief post because a few things are spinning around in my head and i’m tired of packing. i need rest. this helps me rest.

amid war and conflict in MANY regions of the world (why do we seem to only be able to focus on one at time???) i am once again reminded that i am privileged. that i have “time” to move all my STUFF. that i have stuff to pack. that life is both/and. and it is okay to live with the tension. to not have answers. to be overwhelmed. to take breaks from the news and social media and busyness and all that gets rolled around in our society because, for now, i can. one day, maybe the tumult others are experiencing will be my life and “breaks” won’t be possible.

does this mean my heart isn’t filled with sorrow for the suffering? of course not. i look for ways to offer support that align with my values. i hope you do too.

i was also reminded in a recent (and excellent) For The Wild podcast, on the Long Story of Our Souls with Perdita Finn, that i am not in control. i often need to be reminded of that, trust me. and that our stories (meaning beyond our singular human stories) are not linear (nature reminds me/us of that.) life is bigger than the short narrative of this moment. as someone who is drawn to working in relationship with the labyrinth, non-linearity in a core tenet of my beliefs. Perdita’s book is Take Back the Magic: Conversations with the Unseen World and once i settle, i am looking forward to picking up a copy and slowly absorbing the wisdom.

where i am laying my head to rest now truly feels like liminal space as all the photos, art, and objects that made an apartment a home have been boxed up…with the exception of three altars: my parents’, seasonal, and Hugo, the Wonder Pug. they will be the last things packed away.

the energy is shifting. i wake at night and familiar feels distant. yes, there is still much to “do.” but in the long story of my soul, the world’s soul, it is not even a blink.

what are you noticing as we linger in this thin space? whatever is stirring in you, i hope you are taking care of your tender hearts.

in gratitude,

anne

bonus: these lyrics from Carolyn Hillyer and Nigel Shaw’s (Seventh Wave Music) These Scars We Thought Would Never Fade from their recording Nine Prayers North seemed perfect to close with:

Our world is scarred deep

this greed will carve it deeper

our people scarred deep

these wars will carve us deeper

our world is bare to stone

careless deeds will grind it slowly

Our people worn to bone

cruel words will bind us slowly

How soft these graves of earth and

passing time, how raw this world

these scars we thought would never fade

This world can move on

our hands shall mend it wisely

these people grow strong

our hearts shall reach out kindly

this world can change somehow

every life cherished dearly

these people standing proud

every voice resisting clearly

How raw this world these tender

strands of pain how wild our hope

these scars we thought would never fade.