A Quick Note on Liminal Space by Sash
This month’s theme is liminal space, wherein we’ve invited you all to think about transitions, thresholds, rites of passage and eerie places where the veil is thin.
I’ve always been in awe of liminal spaces. How subjective they are, how fleeting, how completely fascinating. A hotel at nighttime might be super creepy to a passing guest, but to the doorman who works there it’s just part of the regular grind. When the sun rises and the hallways are bustling with activity again, the liminality of the space dissipates, the place transforming back into something completely nondescript due to the change in context.
When I was a kid, I didn’t really know anyone on our street. My parents had few friends in the community and I was an introvert whose main pastime was reading books. As it was, one of the few times I ventured out of my small bubble was on Halloween.
After dark on October 31st, my world became a little more open, as the side streets in our area were no longer off-limits places but instead hidden alleys of trick-or-treating potential. The places my parents told me not to go were suddenly okay to walk down, winding roads and looping cul-de-sacs, candle-lit pumpkins like beacons in porchways.
The dying leaves whispered as I sloshed through piles of autumn debris. My plastic bag soon became a swinging pendulum of Halloween treats. I would feel bold and safe under my mask, knowing that on this particular night I could brave any ghouls my overactive imagination conjured by hiding in plain sight as one of them. It was one of the few times that social anxiety didn’t obliterate my ability to talk to strangers.
Not to mention chocolate is a great incentive, especially when you’re six.
I remember thinking that these houses would never be ones I saw in daylight, or at any other time of the year. They would exist to me only as shadowed blocks with orange and yellow lights, a blur of faces at open doors. I imagined that after the sun came up, they would simply fade away and all of the people in them would cease to exist as I went about my daily life.
It was always a surreal experience to my young mind - a little thrilling, unfailingly spooky.
I never saw anything from beyond the veil but I always thought (and to be honest, still do) think of Halloween as the one time where I just might.
Halloween might be the centrepiece of October for many of us, but October on the whole is a month of transition. The leaves are turning, the light is changing, the days growing darker and we’re reaching the end of another year. We’re not the same people we were when we started out ten months ago.
That space, that liminal space between before and after, the ‘now’ in which we reside… how does it feel? What about you is changing? What spectres haunt you when the busy contexts of your everyday life are removed, leaving you floating and listless with your thoughts?
Which thresholds are you stepping over to become stronger versions of yourselves?
Wishing you as always, power, peace and prosperity,