Three dogwood   
Illuminated as if on stage, the dogwood blossoms sing to us of spring. The solstice long past, they find it safe to bloom full and glorious. 

   Solstices mark the bridge between one season and another. What if you were caught on that bridge as precariously as if you had one foot on a dock and the other on a boat?  

   Every season is sacred. But spring reigns supreme here in the south where it lasts a full three months (instead of being truncated on the front end by the long winters in the north.)

   The only way you can miss spring's searing beauty is if your looking is fastened on her function instead of open to her mystery. 

   Radical Loving Care offers a way to awaken us to a new season of seeing. Look at the dogwood petals overlapping each other – as if mimicking the intersecting circles of love and need.

   How can it be that a single Sacred Encounter can change everything? A patient utters a simple four-word statement: “I am in pain.” You ask, simply, "Where does it hurt?"

   But sacred encounters are never simple because suffering is always complex. 

   Do you remember your worst pain? Do you recall how hard it was for
you to experience that pain and to know that nobody else, in that moment, could
understand?

   This is the agony that isolation can produce. When your life struggles
from breath to breath you may even believe it is not worth living.  Why breathe again if such profound discomfort is to continue?

   Pain is complex because illness casts you into a liminal
state – an earthly purgatory. When you are ill you are, by definition, not well but you are also not dead. You are caught on the bridge. Like a pilgrim asea you lack the comfort of your homeland and you have not yet arrived in the new world.

   The thunder of liminal states can feel deafening. There is a particular desperation,
a desire to be in one place or the other but not in between. It is an indescribable fear whose only antidote comes when Love arrives.

   In this state of illness you remember the safe harbor of your
homeland. You want the new land of healing to be better. Meanwhile you are
gasp for air amid the roiling ocean.

6a00d83451c38969e201901b6b91e7970b-250wi   Who will help you? Your only lifeline is the caregiver. Your eyes beseech.

   What will you as that caregiver bring to that suffering soul?

   This is the reason we invite you to sail into the waters of
Radical Loving Care. When we are suffering we need more than medicine. We need what only Love can provide – water from the wellspring of healing. 

-Erie Chapman

3 responses to “Days 112-114 – Caught on the Bridge: The Mystery of Liminal States”

  1. Cheri Cancelliere Avatar
    Cheri Cancelliere

    Erie,
    Thank you for the beautiful invitation to sail into the waters of Radical Loving Care. This morning, my 88-year-old mother tried vainly to hold back her tears as she struggled with her morning routine that was once simple, but is now a virtual marathon for someone who is blind, disabled and racked with pain. I told her that I loved her, that she was not a burden, that I would always be there for her and would never leave her. This is what love looks like. An old daughter and her older mother, crying and then laughing together. Love shares laughter and tears, pain and sorrow, and always, always hope.

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  2. Stephanie Avatar
    Stephanie

    Thank you Erie and Cheri, both such profound ponderings. Erie, your question, “What if you were caught on that bridge as precariously as if you had one foot on a dock and the other on a boat?” rang true for me in my mother-daughter situation too. My husband and I have an adult daughter who lives with us, after having a traumatic brain injury. She is very intelligent and courageous, and is almost, but not yet quite, able to live by herself. I am very loved but very much emotionally pushed-against in this relationship, she needs a safe firm mother wall. Yet other times I am called to be friend. And I must always be mother and friend to myself. This, for me, is the bridge upon which I balance precariously. There is suffering and joy in this liminal state. I trust that both of our higher powers, our Caregiver, will see us through with love.

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  3. ~liz Wessel Avatar

    The depth and sincerity of your reflection, offers a freedom for others to share their pain as well. Perhaps, in the sharing we are accepted and really seen as we are, precious and heartbreakingly loved, known and accepted as is…and what a beautiful blossoming in Cheri and Stephanie’s response.
    “Do you remember your worst pain?” I was a sickly child with frequent Sreph throats, (interesting as I did not really feel I had a voice as a kid). The dark nights were the longest without the distractions of day.
    A natural reaction to pain is avoidance. My struggle is most often with myself. I sometimes feel intense anxiety, which I think is the kind of fear that you describe. I would rather be any place else than with that discomfort. Yet, something tells me that is exactly what I need to do.
    This w/e as I sat in church my heart softened and I felt very vulnerable. I thought about how caught up I am in all the busyness and the critic within admonished me as self-centered. I felt an old familiar shame. My first instinct was to run but instead I just noticed and stayed present. Then I gently touched my hand. (My inner critic could admonish me for that too…but I felt the comfort of intimacy instead.)
    I think you said it so beautifully on Maria’s w/e post, Erie, “The door is with us in every moment.”
    We are light and we are darkness,
    We are the flesh be it mud or stars
    Torn between the two
    Yet already the one inseparable
    from the broken many
    -Robert Augustus Masters

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