Autumn is officially becoming. In a world seemingly standing still, the equinox brings pause for a reminder that we are constantly moving. During this season sandwiched between the longest days and longest nights, nature teaches us the richness of the space between.
Transitions, the process or periods of change from one state or condition to another, defines life. Our entire existence is a series of metamorphoses moment by moment, day-to-day, year after year, from the subtlest aspects of our being to the most superficial. Our transitioning is a reflection of how we are living.
How is your space between?
There are some spaces that I can’t even remember. For years many of these were categorized as, “poor navigational skills”, until I realized it wasn’t that I was prone to getting lost all the time but rather my presence was nowhere to be found. Disappearing in the abyss of what is to come, the throes of what was, the attachment to what isn’t anymore, the accumulation of the “getting there” and all that achieving has been symbolic of in my life: worth, acceptance, and respect; much of my living feels like a void followed by a, how did I get here?
I caught myself in a daze this week, staring at the harmonium I’ve been meaning to start playing again on the floor collecting dust in the corner thinking, some things never change. My eyes roll. Then in rolls my almost 6 month old daughter who only weeks ago could barely rock her pint-sized body side to side. She lifts up her head and starts licking the polished wood. “Can you taste the music baby?!” I ask her jokingly. She stops licking long enough for a grin, the kind that lets you know she heard you, and how good it feels to be loved. I let the shakes of excitement that rivet her body when she hears my voice sink in, and the way her ears move when she smiles. For a few moments I could feel the richness of the space between. Here I am, I thought, somewhere between childless and the full acceptance of motherhood and here she is, somewhere between an infant miracle who can roll and crawl and smile and laugh and babble on for hours and a woman who will one day be 30, somewhere between childless and the full acceptance of motherhood. In between thoughts of defeat and frustration she was there to remind me of just how quickly life is transitioning, and to experience it now.
The space between thoughts, the space that lies in the dawning of a new day, the space between breaths, the space between what happens to us and how we respond, are all sacred spaces. What makes them so is the pureness of consciousness that embodies them.
Joseph Campbell said, “Your sacred space is where you can find yourself again and again.”
As significant as the seasons changing, how our house goes from dirty to clean matters. How our plates go from full to empty matters. How we get from A to B–departure to arrival, sick to well, healed to injured, jobless to employed, infant to adult, married to single, pose to pose, life to death, all matter. Every in between gives us a chance to be present, conscious, and in that practice connect with the more subtle spaces and experience a different kind of empty, an unadulterated, skew-less version of real–and real is finding ourselves, in our most sacred expression.
I got better at being present while navigating by using my senses. Noticing landmarks, rolling the windows down to hear the noise on the streets and let the wind whip through my hair, feeling the stiffness of the steering wheel and the energy of my hands holding it, listening to my internal compass–checking in, rather than checking out.
Where are you now? How can you resensitize through your own transitioning? Stretch your presence. Feel into the going through. May all of our lives feel less of a void and more like living. May consciousness bring us fullness, realness, and the experience of every changing season.