The sound of the fountains below my fourth floor apartment provide the music of the night. The new fresh air of these fall nights pulse into my window with a rhythm nearly like breathing. This is the time of day when the busyness yields to the quiet. My body rests as my soul reviews the day and reasserts itself as the ruler of my heart.
My mind has so much to process of the day. I think of my three children and I picture them safe and sound. I shove worry out of my head and instead paint for them sweet dreams as I talk to God about their future. My mind wanders to a lady whom I've known for some time and I pray fervently that perhaps her affections might again turn my way.
The night for me holds hope. The depth of the cosmos on display, lighting up eternity. I can literally see for years, for light years. My eyes take hold of things that once were, are now, and are yet to come. The surface tension of my soul is no less greater than that of the sun, and the resulting revolutions of its gravity pulls all that I love closer to me.
Liminal space. That is exactly where I find myself on this early autumn night. Liminal space, the physical space between one destination and the next, a cosmic way station. A latin rooted word that describes this time between what was and what's next.
"Are we there yet Daddy?"
The liminal space of a road trip. Are we there... yet? And what do we do in the intermittent time? We remember who we are, celebrating stories and memories. We are present in the moment, playing license plate games and seeing who can hold their breath through the mountain tunnels. We talk about our preferred future and we plan our days. We remember that we are in this together. Liminal space... what seems merely transitory, is in fact... definitive.
There is no wasted time on this planet. The in between moments prepare us for our next. The sound of the fountains, the feel of the breeze, the smell of the cool autumn air... it all stills our heart for what is yet to come. This is the still, small voice of God.
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