On The Thin Places - Betwixt & Between
Between the here, between the now
Between the North, between the South
Between the West, between the East
Between the time, between the place
From the shell
The song of the sea
Neither quiet nor calm
Searching for love again
Mo ghrá (My love)
Between the winds, between the waves
Between the sands, between the shores…
Between the stones, between the storms
Between belief, between the seasI am in tune
Here we are again. The liminal place. The thinning. The stillness of the equinox beckons we slow our spin almost to the point of a complete stop and listen closely to the edges of the day and night. Between the light of day and dark of night is a liminal bridge, a space where only poetry can express the beauty of the moment.
Some beings only exist in the liminal. The doors to some places can only be accessed by this space known as the ‘betwixt and between’ and these sacred pathways avail to us ancient knowings, ancient beings, and realms beyond imagination. The mist that sits within a dark forest. The fog that dances atop a still lake at dawn. The cloud that moves across craggy peaks and high mountains. The late light that leaves its memory marked on the moors at winter’s edge. The rising of a red moon on a cold horizon. These are the spaces where moments are bridges, spaces where I often stop moving, steady my breath, and close my eyes as I feel the realms pulse around me.
As a child I used to sit with trees as the sun was setting because I could feel them breathing out. Almost like a sigh of relief as they settled and awaited the night and all those who might walk along them in the starlight. They spoke to me most at that time of day. The old mango tree I grew up with looked and sounded like an old man. I’d climb through his boughs and tickle him as I sat and pondered my next move. We were great friends. He loved me like family and I loved him with all my heart. He watched over us playing in our little yard and I felt seen and safe. One very early morning, I wandered out into the yard to say good morning to all the trees and birds (and lizards and insects) and out of the corner of my eye I saw a tiny foot moving through his bark. When I looked up to his canopy, he looked as tall as the house, almost human, and suddenly tree. “I knew it!” I remember saying to him. “I knew you were friends with faeries.” His smile was deep and wide. I remember feeling as though he said “we’re all faeries” and in that moment I started to cry and ran over to him hugging him, getting dew all over my clothes, and bark in my short curly hair. It was exciting, strange, familiar, and wonderful. I knew he couldn’t hug me back, that it wasn’t safe for him to be seen by others, so I squeezed his trunk tightly and whispered that I’d keep our secret safe.
I’m not sure I could guess how many times I told that tree, and others who raised me, that I loved them. My constant companions, wise elders, gentle playmates, and forever friends. I promised to protect them and I wrapped ribbons around their branches and left presents in their trunks. We spent countless hours together from dawn until dusk and they taught me how to look closely at things, to watch cicadas walk, and to sing to birds. I’d kiss their branches when they broke and collect their leaves when they fell. I could see them as spirits. I knew their names, and they knew mine. I knew when they were going to blossom and when they were going to die. When I walked to and from school, I said “good morning” and “good afternoon” to every tree and bush and flower. I touched their bark and brushed my fingers through their leaves. They were my community and I loved them.
I feel such an invitation at each equinox. This fulcrum time is so rich with potential for accessing the liminal. Seeing life in its harmonic perfection, this moment of the year calls us home to the still chambers of our hearts and asks that we sit there and contemplate the light and dark that weaves us. Moving now toward the darker, inner half of the year, in this moment of the betwixt and between, I wonder if you might take a moment to sit with a tree or flower as the sun sets? Perhaps you might close your eyes, place one hand on its trunk and one hand on your heart, and see if for a moment you can feel its voice move across your thoughts, or hear the song that it hums within its roots. I plan to spend as much time as I can in stillness during these moments of the year, and perhaps I’ll ask the fae to deliver a message of love to my old friend the mango tree thanking him for taking care of me and teaching me the way of the leaf.
In unity with the trees, may the blessings of this liminal moment soften your gaze, comfort your heart, and avail you to the wonders that live between the here, between the now.
With love,
h. x