Liminal Space

These days I inhabit a liminal space 

Somewhere between the land of the living 

And the dead. 

Where must I consider to live? 

As each morning arrives 

I ponder how to fill the day. 

What would it be like to rest here? 

Suspended in a place left open 

By the question 

While the laundry remains undone, 

The smoke alarm chirping. 

A place that has no contours, 

No horizon, 

Where bathing is optional. 

A place as ephemeral as a mist 

Rising above the ocean. 

As fleeting as heat 

Emanating from the pavement. 

The future, 

A blank sheet of paper. 

No tracks pointing me in the right direction. 

I have no map for this. 

What would it be like to just rest here? 

This mysterious field requiring 

Deep listening. 

What is calling to pull me through? 

Ragged, this old self a shell. 

Perhaps a necessary journey to emerge 

On the other side whole.