An Invitation into the Liminal

Two nights ago, I sat down with the liminal time of the evening. I ate my dinner of spring greens and peas while sitting outside on the back porch. Surrounded by my seedlings, the neighbor's trees and the wind, I found myself comfortably at home and in an other place at the same time. I started to think about when was the last time I spent some quiet time observing the evening, and I couldn't remember. Sure, our community often holds rituals at this time, around 7pm, but we're indoors for those rituals, by necessity. And even though the rituals are great, they are not the same as this quiet observation of the approach of night.

So, I poured a glass of wine and waited for S to come home. He just started biking to and from work, so he was all full of stories about the time it took, the traffic, how he felt, etc. He ate his dinner, and our conversation kept up at the swift pace of his energy. It was a bit fast and furious for me; I started to wane. He was getting a little arrogant, so I started to ignore him. Instead, I listened to the wind. With the sun setting, the leaves darkened. These leaves, which were flowers only two weeks ago, stretch out and sway in the wind just like, it seems to me, seaweed in the sea.

"Flow dynamics," he informs me.
I hadn't asked.

I am drawn back into the quiet sounds and powerful pulse of evening. The moon is just a sliver in the west, and it hangs like an empty bowl, with its horns coming up on either side. Like the kind that women wear on their third eye at ritual. Like the headdress of Isis.

The wind picks up and sends the leaves into motion. My mind sees forms and figures in the ever-changing shapes of the branches. And then there is a shift, a kind of slow-motion knowing that enters my brain. This is when I know I'm in the presence of the fey. They hang in the maple trees and watch us through our windows. They come into our homes at night, invited by our dreams, where they enchant us, trick us, help us and sometimes scare us. I'd like to think that they are the ones who shapeshift from one character to the next for no obvious reason -- from a a killer to a lover to a rock star to Big Bird, y'know? Sometimes, there's a definite meaning, like when I kept dreaming about being chased by psychokillers. In one dream, the killer turned into an attractive blond man, who was in pursuit of a different kind. But sometimes, it seems like they're just f***ing with me -- like the time the psycho became Jimi Hendrix. Or Big Bird. WTF?

So, last night I decided I would put out some milk and almonds for whomever it was who was dancing in the branches the other night. This morning, I raise my cup and accept the initiation.