Liminality is the state of not knowing how or if a situation will resolve itself. It’s a rite of passage. If wise elders have not prepared us for this rebirth experience and taught us the necessity of relaxing into it, we will almost certainly resist it. Once a pattern of resistance has become established, our embryonic potential for love is lost. We become weirdly animated fossils, waiting for a death that has already happened.
If we knew what to pray for, every prayer would be answered. But we don’t. And they aren’t. Knowing that we don’t know is love’s first humiliation. It doesn’t mean we stop praying. It just means that henceforth we pray silently, without any words.
In the interior sense, we take our shoes off when we empty our minds. It’s like bowing, a demonstration of respect, a ritual of humiliation in the face of what we don’t know. Most men were never taught how to listen. This is how.
Or some other low joint. “Let me tell you how it is, son. Let me tell you how the world works.” Oh boy. First, we cling to our toys, then to our opinions.
When I fall in love, I fall into myself.