Threshold

I woke up twice overnight.

Well, twice that I recall. By the shape of blankets and sheets in the morning, surely there were many more awakenings I’ve no memory of.  The first was a dream I had of a lost dog. Lost, and then found. I scrawled out a few words before drifting back off to sleep. It was dark, just the light of my salt lamp. My favorite fine-point Sharpie had a softened tip.  But you get the point. 

Here’s the translation:

Found dog. I know that probably won’t happen in real life but it will have me watching for lost things all day. 

And I will.

The next time I was awakened, I scribbled out another note. This one a bit less legible but that’s really not important. 

Here’s the translation:

I’ve been dreaming so much lately. Vivid dreams that fade instantly. I’ve heard it said that dreaming is like a place between two worlds. This morning I will take Mom to visit a friend that is lingering in that space between worlds. Fall continues to be the saddest season. 

I sat this morning for an early meditation with a small group on Zoom. We don’t speak or engage. We sit. Together and apart. It’s that feeling of oneness I sometimes need a reminder of. Returning to breath, I understand the impermanence of everything. It will help today as we embark on this short pilgrimage to say goodbye. 

I love liminal spaces. It’s why I gravitate toward civil twilight. It’s why I love anticipation more than what follows. I’m watching a beeswax candle with its fragile and delicate design fall into itself and there is something liminal there too. Maybe it isn’t really “space” at all. 

The word liminal, comes from the Latin limen, which means threshold. It is “to be on the precipice of something new that hasn’t yet arrived”. Breath is liminal. I am coming to deeply love the impermanence of all that is around me. It helps me do the things I perceive as hard things. Today will be a hard thing, I will again step deeply into my life and across the threshold of what is next.

I’m writing here in the tub as the flame of that candle flickers. The light is dancing and it isn’t a stretch to think I see Gus in that shadowy place. Do you see him?

Oh, life. I love you.