liminal, together

Pictured: Shadows created by sunlight hitting paper lanterns and banners strewn above a concrete floor. Photo by Michele Kumi Baer.

Greetings, practitioners and kindreds. 

It is now solidly autumn in the northern hemisphere, and with the change in seasons, we have begun to experience a shift in the hours of lightness and darkness that surround us every day. The planet’s orientation towards its main source of light is changing as it continues along its tilted, orbital path. 

We are also nearing the end of Libra Season, and the ethos of Libra has been all about balance and harmony. Libra is the scales, yes, and—importantly—it is the structure that connects the scales to one another, that honors their interdependence. Libra understands that things we may have been taught to hold in opposition, mutual exclusivity, or competition with one another are related. Libra lives deeply in the “we” and the “us.”    

Through the beginning of fall and the expanse of Libra Season, everywhere I’ve turned people are navigating transitions. Breakups. Moving homes. Job offers. Offices re-opening. Medical diagnoses. Deaths. Births. 

Transitions call us to the crossroads, to the spaces between, the thresholds in our lives. Where there are knowns and unknowns. Where there are befores and afters. Where there are withs and withouts. As the balance shifts towards what will be and away from what was, these liminal spaces hold lessons for us. They ask for our presence in order to activate the skills and resources we’ll need to move forward. 

As I think of what it means to navigate liminality, I am reminded of something that Paolo Freire wrote, about the qualities of a good teacher. These words are, for me, at the core of the potential that liminal spaces hold for us to cultivate: 

“This capacity to always begin anew,

to make,

to reconstruct, 

and to not spoil,

to refuse to bureaucratize the mind,

to understand

and to live life as a process—live to become...” 

-Paulo Freire

Pictured: A sea of colorful paper lanterns and banner strewn overhead, set against the backdrop of a blue, cloudless sky. Photo by Michele Kumi Baer.

We often talk about transitions with a product orientation, especially when the things we are moving toward are things we deeply desire. We focus on the new home, the new job, the new relationship. We become transfixed on the things we are obtaining as we cross the border from what was to what will be.

Importantly, transitions have a deep process-orientation. Whether they happen swiftly or are more drawn out, we rarely ever arrive at the outcome without struggle or discomfort or learning. Transitions often call us to excavate skeletons and examine wounds from our past and then labor through the anger, shame, and sadness that often arises. 

These transitions—these liminal spaces—call on our capacity for living life as a creative process. For living life as a process of becoming, to reference what Freire wrote.

During these transitions, we activate our creativity by rethinking how we understand and interact with the people, objects, and spaces around us. We reassess how to take care of ourselves, our loved ones, and our surroundings in the midst of loss, heartbreak, anger, ambition, or desire. We are called to the creative potential of making and reconstructing our lives, as painful and as joyful as that process can be.

If these musings on transitions resonate, I offer these prompts in hopes that they support you in your creative process, in your process of becoming:

• What liminal spaces are you navigating right now, and what are you learning from being at the threshold and taking in the landscape around you? What can you observe—about yourself and the word around you—in that liminal space? 

• What are you feeling called to create for yourself and your life as you navigate this transition? How can you meet the creative potential of this time?

• What might you want to implement, given what you are noticing? Are there shifts you can make in how you are caring for yourself, your space, your time, or your labor? 

Also, here is a playlist to accompany your musing. I hope it serves as a balm for this transition-filled time.

Take sweet care, y’all. 

つづく (to be continued),

MKB 

This post is a part of a monthly “letters to the field” series that Michele is writing as a part of her consulting practice, Kumi Cultural. To sign up for the newsletter and get alerts for future posts, please click here.