… in the space between whatever has happened already and whatever is to come hovers an invisible borderland, the known on one side and the unknown on the other….
Many a January finds me hovering on the new year’s invisible borderland – slow to land, slow to spread my wings, slow to take off. Just slow. A halt? A wait?
When on the move, an inner engine drives and directs choices, decisions, alternatives, opportunities: either-or, more or less, black or white, right or wrong, this or that; and with an ever-increasing number of the latter and their alter egos, this inner engine goes on driving, directing, huffing and puffing. Steam less and in slow motion more often than not.
And then enter this January’s alter ego of slowness the borderland – a subtle, yet this time, visible invasion.
And I knew.
I know. Accept the hovering on the borderland. Face the shadows that want to grow long and short. Linger, keep your eyes open, and see what you can with them.
And then meets this January’s grace me anew.
No either-or, more or less, black or white, right or wrong, this or that
And asks me to say yes! Experience the borderland. The present.
And allows me to be Both – And. Accept the past. Be present in the imperfect now.
And keeps me from making either-or choices. Will to wait. The moment’s invisible borderland is undivided.
And allows me to enjoy both sides.
It’s not easy, this hovering. It asks for stillness and inner strength – amidst breeze and gust. And I know, though steam less, sliced thinly, and edgy, the long and short shadows create the borderland – to wait for the mystery, the insight, the wisdom – to be understood in the lived imperfect presence.
The quote is a recent read, All the Light We Cannot See, a novel written by Anthony Doerr.
Richard Rohr challenged me in many of his writings, especially with his Both – And thoughts.
The photo happened while searching the garden for a hovering naaldekoker (dragonfly).