The Dawn & The Dew

I had another blog (in what feels like a lifetime ago now) over on another platform. However, I felt all over the place with everything; from my “personal branding” with a theme that seemed to change every few months, to the topics I would flit back and forth to — like a somewhat neurotic hummingbird. I hadn’t quite settled on my passions yet, and every new fascination was a shiny new penny to gush over. I didn’t know myself well enough, hadn’t processed my “stuff”, to articulate something that felt almost ephemeral to other people. I hadn’t figured out how to craft a cohesive blending of colors, texture, imagery, voice and tone, or subject matter into a singular vision or mission to share in a way that wasn't going to confuse or unsettle others.

I’m not sure if I’m there even now, at the point I can succinctly summarize who or what I am, and precisely articulate the subject matter I am well-versed in or what I have explored in the most depth. I’m not sure I ever will, I don’t feel it’s authentic for me to do so. My interests span a wide breadth of things, ideas, concepts, fields and industries. I’m also a woman, with a body that is constantly changing like the shifting seasons or the phases of the moon. I think, in retrospect, that might have been the seed of what would become The Liminal Sphere. Slowly, painfully slowly, and in a chaotic, non-linear fashion — I became aware of my own fluid, nebulous, amorphous, almost alien nature. Sometimes, even contradictory. A walking paradox.

The hardest part still is accepting this aspect of my existence. Always at odds with the concrete jungle of tepid modernity threatening to swallow me at any moment.

So, why on Earth did I feel the need to put myself in a neat little box so I could be so digestible for strangers on the internet? Like I was a pretty box of holiday chocolates or one of those insanely overpriced luxury brand gift boxes with tiny silly things stuffed in excessive amounts of glittery tissue paper… Likely because that is exactly the common course of action or the “advise” floating around, both on the internet and in real life conversation in coffee shops.

Would it be nice? Probably. Would it be honest? No.

I am neither a light worker, nor a shadow worker or chaos agent (I believe in balance — I lean in neither direction). I am neither a frilly-Barbie-pink-and-glitter girly, nor am I a sensuous femme fatale, nor am I a wild shamanic woman wearing white linen dresses and dreadlocks, nor am I inherently masculine. I am not male, nor do I identify as a man. Although, I did adopt many masculine habits and behaviors, but those were survival tactics; coping mechanisms in an unkind world that didn't seem to have space for a small, sensitive, creative, intuitive little girl.

Armoring was the only thing I could do, to feel a little safer.

Like many before me (and likely many more after me), that coping mechanism slowly became a curse. More of a heavy burden I no longer wanted to bear, than a security blanket. I wanted to release all that heaviness, shedding it like a snake skin that had grown to suffocate me. Inch by inch, it sloughed off. The process seemed to quicken some in the last 3 or 4 years. I had managed to survive lockdown, walked away from a situationship that had dragged on for far too long and only trapped me in a deep depression, stopped keep tabs on old friends that couldn't seem to grow with me (or reciprocate the effort). Even extended family members fell away (more so after the recent passing of my grandmother). Transferred from community college to university to complete my undergraduate degree. I suddenly became an aunt to a deeply neurodivergent little boy…

Except it was the old paradigms, habits, and ingrained self-image that were actually the more difficult to transcend or transmute. Those took the most time and conscious work to acknowledge, to understand, and to release. So much of my old identity had been tied up in the armoring, the scared childhood and angry teenage narratives, the horrible memories of past events, the unprocessed emotions, the unmet needs… Stuff that I realize is the past, a past that I have allowed to haunt me like a poltergeist. A past that can be processed, and put to rest.

Because the past is a place of reference, not a place of residence.

Perhaps with each blog post or Substack letter, or even podcast episode, I’ll share more about where I’ve been and how I’ve come to this space in this winding road of a life path. I certainly intend to explore more and share where I’m headed next. That, I suppose, is the purpose of The Liminal Sphere. To create a space to explore and dive into the nebulous, the underbelly and under currents, the esoteric, the transitional and transformative. A realm for the midnight and twilight dwellers, the dawn and dew lovers, the tea drinkers in a sea of coffee addicts, the quiet creatives, the curious and inquisitive, the found family seeking community, the sensitive and intuitive soul with a spark and some spice.

A space for the liminal soul native to the Liminal Spheres.