In the spirit of transformation, among tribeswomen and tribesmen, tells are often told of the miraculous changes protagonists undergo before coming into total culmination of their being. Just like the caterpillar that sheds it old skin, we marvel at the butterfly as it climbs its way from rotten, old cocoons—thus, beginning its flight into the new world.
I can recall watching those butterflies perch themselves on flowers in my mothers garden, respecting their strength which lead to insurmountable beauty as it fluttered its wings commanding gentle attention and reverence. But lately, I’ve been feeling less like a butterfly and more of the caterpillar in its cocoon phase. Hanging upside down, unmoving, almost hauntingly still save for small movements that motion the caterpillar toward dissolving its tissue in small stages to release its wings. In this cocoon stage, I sometimes wonder if I will ever begin to take my rightful flight as a butterfly.
In reflecting on the effects of the pandemic, I’ve frequently found myself toying with this idea of liminal space. Liminal space points to a period of stillness where one has left old existence and is in transition, waiting for the arrival of new creation. In anthropology, it’s a rite of passage, where the initiated is in process but not embodying complete status. In liminal space, it can almost feel as if one is “stuck”, not able to return back to old comfort zones yet still waiting for their arrival in new stages.
Transition often does feel like dissolving tissues on the subtle body in order for a new one to emerge. Some days the discomfort threatens one until they begin retracing old steps, leading them back to what is old but well-known. Other days the promise of newness beacons them to an invigorating journey where the commitment toward expansion allows for rebirth. But as we wait for the sweetness and finality of rebirth, we must endure the process of pregnancy. In those stages where it seems that life is forming from absolute nothingness, growing at a steady yet unhurried pace, we can begin to nurture and prepare ourselves in subtle cues so that it translates seamlessly to the new life.
This is truly what transition is all about. It is not the process of landing, where we finally reap the benefits of what we have sowed—but each process in between. The decision to leave the old, the waiting for the new, what we do during that wait and the inevitable arrival. In liminal space, we lay groundwork for how we wish to live in the new emergence until one day we wake up in our new identity. Transition, in its brilliance often creeps along weary but firm tissues and vigorous cells until we surprisingly have enough strength to crawl from the birthing canal, the cocoon, spread our wings and fly into new, anticipated space.
Thus claiming our rightful place on the petals of plentiful flowers, basking in the gift of expansion and transformation from the Divine.
Genuinely Jannah 