reverse threading

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Tag Archives: liminal space


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carry it with. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

dear you.

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness.

xoxo, kerri & david

***

in the tiniest liminal space while the river rivers, a frozen second of film captures a painting of swirling green. with no frame of reference – no smidge of bridge over the waterway, no shoreline of rock or underbrush, no logs or boulders or turtles or fish or heron, no sky, no horizon – this tiniest second – the moment it takes to snap the photograph – becomes etched in time and space and the mystery of the image is born.

what else is real…there is beauty in the pollen-filled river, beauty as it flows slowly – slogging its way downstream, a palette filled with the pollen of nearby trees, algae exploding from the heatwave. and as we stand above it – we gaze down at it – and i am astonished at the color, the swirls, the ever-changing etch-a-sketch, like a jackson pollack painting has come alive right before us.

and the liminal space – this very tiny liminal space that the river has identified and snap-immortalized in our camera – evokes for me – once again – how momentous this very moment – that we can see this. and it, gratefully, untriggers – if there is such a thing – even for the briefest of time – the amorphous and not-so-amorphous anxiety-about-these-very-days i have been feeling.

and so i pick up the chartreuse-and-black river and carry it with me.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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sweet potatoes. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

sweet potato casserole is, admittedly, one of my favorite dishes in a thanksgiving feast. that and stuffing. and maybe that string bean casserole – the one with the french-fried onions on top. oh. and mashed potatoes. even though turkey and gravy and any variety of cranberry relish are traditional, i’m not crazy about any of that. i’m perfectly content with sweet potatoes and stuffing and mashed potatoes and maybe those green beans.

this year we will not be making anything traditional. instead, we’ll make an irish guinness stew with plentiful root vegetables. something that seems grounded, reassuring. but probably without the carrots since carrots are on the don’t-buy-don’t-eat list right now. so…substitute in maybe butternut squash and some sweet potatoes – to add the sweetness that carrots would have provided. it seems right to wait and stir and wait as a good stew simmers.

liminal space is defined as a transitional period or place, often evoking a sense of unease, a waiting area.

if you are like me, i would guess that – at this holiday – you may also be feeling in a sort of liminal space, a waiting place. these are troubled times.

but just as dr. seuss described the waiting place, he also described the places you go:

“you’re off to great places! you’re off and away! you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose.”

it is my hope always that we access great places, that we steer ourselves any direction we choose. it is my hope that – past my life here on this planet – those left behind me will also have the same american freedoms i have taken for granted throughout my life on earth. it is my hope that democracy will have survived the next years – years that will test its resiliency and fortitude. i guess we’ll see.

i have shed many tears during these last months and weeks. i have mourned for solidarity of family, of friends, of community, of state, of country. i am weary of crying, bone-tired of the grief.

my sweet momma wrote to me long ago – at a different time when my rooted energy felt depleted, “live life, my sweet potato.”

and that is what we will do. live life. looking for the great places, the places to which we might be off and away, the directions we might go…in our home, in our artistry, in our world. it is still time to create, to generate goodness, to adhere to our values, to begin.

sweet potatoes: root vegetables symbolizing abundance, healing, sustenance, survival.

i give thanks for our old house, full of memories – a long river of time. i give thanks for the abundance i have experienced, for my sweet momma’s legacy of the imperative of kindness. i give thanks for david, our grown-up children and their beloved partners, the people we love, the people who have generously held us close, who have helped sustain us. i give thanks for opportunity, possibility, the gift of time, sweet potatoes.

i hope we – as a nation – find a way of virtue through this liminal time to the other side – the place where our constitution breathes a sigh of relief, where we gratefully grab onto the coattails of every person who has fought for our freedom – holding on for dear life – where we stay vigilant and dedicated to democracy, where we heal and re-commit to unity in these united states of america.

and today, as i write this – the day before thanksgiving – all that is left for preparation is to breathe thanks and pick up a butternut squash and some sweet potatoes.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this THANKSGIVING

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the sweet phase. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

in aspen, colorado, it is one of our favorite trails…alongside the ridgeline, through the aspen forest, ducking under fragrant pine, climbing. the vistas are stunning, the scent is rejuvenating, the air fresh and cool.

this time there was snow on the trail. the combination of the warm sun and the snow beneath our feet was exquisite. new trekking poles in hand, we were in our glory.

if you don’t take the bridge over the more swollen section of the stream and climb higher, than you can take a divergent path and step rock to rock upstream to an old log that lays there just waiting for people to sit on it. we have sat on that very log every single time we have hiked this trail.

there is something magical about that spot. right in the middle of the stream, mountains behind us, dappled sun on our faces. it is as if every single thing becomes clear. we sit in that very space and all the life-whirling stops, the dots connect, the primary is primary. love.

we dropped our hands into the cold mountain stream, water running swiftly over them and on to the rocks below us.

we talked. we were silent. we touched cold fingertips to cold fingertips.

it is the sweet phase.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB © 2024 kerrianddavid.com

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to be here. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

there are days like this. when you can barely see the lake. were you not standing on its shore, watching its waves pummel the rocks below, you would not know. you would look out at the horizon and you would see nothing. the fog encases it all. even the line of sky and water. the fog here rolls in as the wind shifts and, for the closest mile in, all is awash in it.

i like to go to the lakefront on those days. it is beautiful. everything is in soft focus. and it seems somehow fitting to gaze out and not be able to discern much at all. there are days when it is important to be in the fog – to be wrapped in it – in order to remember to live the day – really, really live it.

we think ourselves able to plan, plan, plan. we believe our lists are important, get wrapped up in prioritizing what’s on them.

and the fog reminds us: things are not as clear as all that. they fall away into the mist as we stand, squinting our eyes to see. and then, the breath we see in front of our faces, the waves crashing near us as we stand on the boulders – they drop us into now.

i believe it would serve me well to remember the fog on clear days. to remember to hold it all lightly, in soft focus, to be where i am, to make the most of all of it, to not underestimate my fragility here. life is unfolding – both with and without my insistence on how, both with and without any clarity i might have, both with and without me.

until the sun burns through the fog to find the horizon, i am – once again – sitting in the interim of the fog, amazed at what i cannot see. not-knowing taps me on the shoulder. and reassures me that i have right-now.

and i am grateful to be here.

*****

happy birthday, my beloved daughter. 💗

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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on the cusp. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

it’s not-this, not-that. neti, neti. a period of duality.

we are not in winter. we are not in spring. though calendars will challenge that, the meteorological fallout of not-this-not-that surrounds us. and we all learn to live in duality. dress in layers. be prepared for anything.

most northern states stake claim to some iteration of the saying, “if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it’ll change.” so littlebabyscion has a backseat laden with vests and jackets; we are always ready for whatever weather shifts our way.

in the meanwhile, we live on the cusp.

we hiked during the eclipse. with the exception of two or three others who passed us, we were completely alone.

though we went to several places to attempt purchasing eclipse glasses, we were too late, and we didn’t have protective eyewear. it was remarkable that so many glasses were sold out at so many places and that meant that so many people were planning on watching this extraordinary event, setting aside portions of their day to view and to celebrate.

so we did not look up. instead, we aimed the camera at the sky and snapped photos. because we didn’t research ahead – which is highly unusual for us – we also didn’t realize we needed these glasses – or a filter – to capture the essence of the eclipse in a photograph with our iphones.

but it doesn’t matter. because we felt it.

the deer must have known. they lingered trailside, aware of our presence, yet not fleeing. we watched each other – in this time of not-this-not-that, not-light-not-dark – they seemed, oddly – for usually they run gracefully away, accepting of us.

at exactly 2:08 – the moment when the eclipse was at peak in our area – the light around us changed. everything took on a surreal, somewhat golden glow, intensifying color around us. we stood still and looked around, certain, even though our photographs were belying the truth, that we were in the moment. the birds were loud, the heron flew above us. the wind changed. and then, it was time, suspended.

we hiked back to the trailhead, knowing that light had been filtered through dark. hopefully, a time of renewal. maybe a time of shedding old energy. i wondered how the world would feel if we lived in that moment at all times. not in the not-this, not-that, but in new light, each and every day.

i suppose we should be as astounded by the sunrise each day. we should be astonished at the play of dark into light. we should be gobsmacked by the new beginning of dawn.

because, really, everywhere around us there are miracles of transformation. and we are always on the cusp of everything beautiful, were we to just stop, were we to just look, to just recognize it. to live in the eclipse.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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tuliporchid. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the tulip was exquisite. grand and graceful and svelte and without wrinkle. it was stunning – even in its never-blooming. and then…a few days went by. days, in the lives of tulips-in-vases, are years, decades in the lives of humans, i suspect. it held on for many of those days, petals smooth and tightly wound in its bud. and then.

we glanced at it – this vase of flowers on the table – pale pink that had kept us company, had given us pause.

and there, in the place where there had been a tulip, was an orchid.

now, you might argue, that’s not an orchid!

but i would counter that with this: if a tulip – in its next phase – wishes to look somehow like an orchid, wishes to open its petals in an orchid-like ballet – who are we to question it? must the tulip mimic the orchid perfectly? or is the nod to orchid, the bow to that maestro enough?

the orchid, tulip, dandelion theory and study … a categorization of life. are we smack-dab in orchid: highly sensitive, beautiful flowers that need very particular environments to thrive? are we firmly entrenched in dandelion: low-sensitivity, hardy, resilient, adaptable, which can grow virtually anywhere? or are we nestled in tulip: which falls somewhere between the two extremes of the sensitivity scale?

yet i wonder. do we cross over? do we linger in the liminal space between flowers? do we stretch our limbs to touch orchid? do we relax to be dandelions in the breeze?

maybe this tulip wanted a moment to be seen almost as an orchid, to feel almost like an orchid, to experience orchid.

or – maybe – this tulip was part orchid all along.

and i wonder…what i will be in the next phase of life.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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watched pots. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

the signs are everywhere now.

birds are singing at the crack of dawn outside our open-at-least-a-slit window. the bunny is out and about in the backyard and there is a new softly-padded divot under the ornamental grasses where she made her nest last year. bulbs are sprouting and the postal delivery folks are starting to wear shorts. it will soon be spring in wisconsin.

it is tempting to go outside and trim back the grasses, rake all the debris from the gardens, pare down the sedum. to unplug the gutter warming cables, to put away the snow shovels right outside the back door, to drain, clean and refill the pond, to bring out the table and chairs, to consider much-needed replacement rugs for the deck. it is tempting to get ready.

but that would be premature.

and, ultimately, we know better.

so we will wait.

patience – at this time of year – with the sun shining and temperatures ranging from the twenties to the sixties – is most definitely hard to come by. we just have to stoke up and be zen in this liminal time.

but all good things do come in time. and eventually, it all plays out. even if it doesn’t really look that way. what’s that expression…? a watched pot never boils.

and waiting is hard.

but i have watched pots in my life.

and i know – for a fact – that – eventually – they do boil.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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not done yet. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it was nothing short of stunning.

in the juxtaposition of october’s start and summer’s last grasp – up north – we were the recipients of the gift of a subtle duality, the gift of liminal space as the seasons shift and morph into the next: summer falling away and autumn rising.

i am a fall-girl and october is my favorite month. way back when – when color and season analysis was a thing – i was told i was autumn. but i already knew it. and now – in what is defined as the autumn of my life – i find myself looking back so as to look forward, to go forward. sometimes this is with great intention, sometimes it is not at all deliberate.

i stumbled across a video the other day. i was googling a youtube of one of my recordings. second up on the googlelist was a video i had never seen. from 1996, shot and edited by a videographer, this was posted recently as a memorial to him and is a 25 minute snippet of a full-length concert i had played at uw-parkside’s auditorium. i released two CDs that night, my second and third…a dozen albums and so, so many concerts and stages ago.

i pushed the play button.

there are days you wonder where the time has gone, how summer has turned to fall and fall to winter. time has rushed by and, in its fleetingness, you have left behind profound moments, defining moments.

watching this video became one of them. watching this video reminded me.

my straight-bangs-wrinkleless-eye-shadowed face was in her element. i could feeel it.

maybe – in the autumn of my life – in the liminal space of relevant-not-relevant, of summer-fall, of falling away-rising – i’m not quite done yet.

*****

snippets from 1996 CONCERT at UW-PARKSIDE – releasing BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL & THE LIGHTS CDs (a memorial post on YouTube to videographer Harry Stoetzel)

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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idling. [k.s. friday]

in the middle of the night – as i lie awake – i can hear the trains. not just the haunting whistles of freight chugging by or a late passenger railcar, but a train or two in the yard, idling. the sound hits me at just the wrong frequency – i am hyper aware of its rise and fall, the pulsing of it. once i hear it, i cannot un-hear it. it stays present and i stay awake.

nevertheless, the tracks hold sweet mystery and, each time i see a train, i wonder its destination, i wonder its journey, i wonder its freight or its passengers. i had not ever stood in the middle of a rural track, bent down – almost kneeling, photographing, until recent years. the track – a classic portrayal of perspective, narrowing further away.

i stood in the middle and looked both ways. south and then north. the south curved into the woods, the north was a straightaway. i turned back south.

in the right-now there seems no straight path, no tight focus, no horizon point that is clear. the tracks curve into the woods, beyond my sight, beyond my imagining. i meander. it makes me wonder.

we seek next and idle in our thoughts in the night, not-knowing. it’s liminal space, a diesel engine that needs to be kept warm for the next day, a time to be present on the tracks, bent down, looking for classic perspective. we are attendants.

i hear the haunting whistle in the wee hours and consider this journey.

*****

MEANDER ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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fuchsia shibui. [k.s. friday]

“rather than being a fall away from beauty, ageing can be the revelation of beauty, the time when the inherent radiance becomes visible.” (john o’donohue)

perhaps i would have noticed these leaves in the prime of their life, clotheslined on the branch, hanging in the sun. their verdant green might have captured my attention and the focus of my camera. but i kind of doubt it. for, indeed, they would have blended into the rest of the woods, the rest of the underbrush, the colors, the shrubbery, the landscape.

in the autumn of their lives, these leaves are ravishing. they gesture to the camera and invite my study. their ageing is their invitation to relish their presence, the visual “hey! look at me!”.

these days it is predictable. there is something – each day – we will say that is a reminder, though gently and with soft humor, of the very fact that we are ageing. we poke at ourselves, with self-deprecating comments about wrinkles or crepey skin or bellies changing or achy joints. we roll our eyes and then one of us reminds the other to be present in it and joyful and grateful, mostly grateful. we are not eloquent in those moments. they involve words like “sheesh!” or “stahhhhhhhhp!” or comparisons “but look at MY wrinkles!”. to suggest we are ageing gracefully is to ignore the american cultural emphasis on youthfulness, with ageing depicted negatively. in contrast, ageing in japan is revered. the elderly have the utmost respect. in the autumn of their lives, turning toward mid-life and beyond, the flaws earned throughout life are considered the very things that intensify beauty. shibui, it is said, is an aesthetic turn toward subtle and unobtrusive beauty, textural in elegance and roughness, diverse in spontaneous and restrained, a balance of simplicity and complexity, understated but not innocent, gorgeous words about meditation over spectacle. (wikipedia)

yesterday, in the middle of thinking about kneeling on the stripes, i found myself stumbling upon hearts. there was the heart – a random piece of ripped tissue – on the hinged lid of the stainless wastebasket. the hearts on the shower curtain, light somehow filtering through the holes holding curtain rings, reflected down onto the curtain itself. the heart leaf on the sidewalk. this morning the heart, shaped from the skin of the potato, on top of the tiny wedge of breakfast potato. it was a little uncanny. but was it?

or perhaps it is some kind of universe message – raising its voice over the din of flaw-noticing and in-the-pause-thinking and liminal-space-white-noise – reminding me of being loved. in this autumn-of-my-life. that the fuchsia is showing up, is a statement in the middle of a dense forest, raising the ordinary to extraordinary, the natural presence of shibui.

*****

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EVERY BREATH from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood