Liminal Being: Gods, Bodies and Self

A friend recently commented on a post from... o.O almost two years ago now. To give yourself context, you should probably go read that first.

After a different post on a similar topic a few months ago, a friend suggested that maybe in reading theology, it would help me contextualize and relate to this paradigm if I were to replace instances of the word "God" with "love."

Now, I'm not sure if that solves or complicates this Christian experience for me because this approach of looking past differences in language helps, and I recognize and honor the messages being shared, but I'm still deeply uncomfortable. I will also be the first to recognize that I've been touched by a higher power. I can feel the presence of the divine in my life, in part because I've sought it out and welcomed it in all forms.

At the same time, I'm a postmodern, poststructural queer. The academic and systemic praxis I've opened myself to are in many ways explicitly counter to the kind of narratives at work within Christianity (that pushing away). I've done reading that seeks to reconcile this: Colossians Remixed was one such endeavor I borrowed from a friend, and while I feel like I better understand some of the underlying tensions between Christianity and what I would call the postmodern condition having done this reading, I just don't feel like I am of the Christian God in the sense that the phrase would usually be used.

A<3 at your service

The above picture is of my first tattoo. I'm considering getting a second one for my 23rd birthday, it would go on my right arm as a kind of parallel to the A<3 on my left. Here, I'll sketch it below:

Rough sketch of potential second tattoo

If you can't tell, that's a slightly stylized version of the symbol for Mercury. The top part that usually looks more like horns, I here represent as wings. I'll connect this all together in a bit, and no, I'm not trying to say I'm joining a sect of Hermeticism.

Imagery and symbolism are important to me, especially as it pertains to my body. I got a tattoo of A<3 because it means something to me. A<3, ACE of hearts, love, memories, and, now that I'm thinking about it, A<3 even has a hermetic influence since I chose Courier New as the typeface I wanted engraved in my body specifically in part because of the play on the word courier with messenger.

A<3 is a powerful symbol to me.

So too is Mercury.

Hermes or Mercury was a Classic god of messengers, traders, tricksters, thieves, and travelers. He was Psychopomp, guiding the souls of the dead to the underworld, and according to some tellings, he was the one who carried dreams from the god Morpheus to sleeping humans. The little glyph above looks like the caduceus that Mercury was depicted as carrying and contains the symbol for earth and the feminine, while somehow being bothandmore. It's also reminiscent of the Egyptian ankh, a symbol for life.

Though I've always been attracted to the role of fool, I'm really not much of a trickster, but I do find myself embodying a certain kind of liminality, standing at boundaries and thresholds, in-between. I put myself in transitional spaces and don't really feel at home if I don't have a certain level of adaptability and variability. Anyone I work with could tell you how much I enjoy standing in their doorways.

Astrologically, Mercury is significant to me because my sun sign, ascendant and moon sign (Virgo, Virgo, Gemini) are all ruled by Mercury. So if I understand my astrology correctly, I should be thrice influenced by this god of in-betweens.

And I would tattoo this symbol of impermanence and crossing thresholds on myself (a wry irony if ever there was one) because I feel like this influence speaks to my truth.

Binary systems leave no room for liminality. Dead religion leaves no room for liminality. The traditional narratives that govern most of Western society and popular Christianity in particular, leave no room for liminality.

There are problems with this liminality. Often times when I feel "off," I feel ungrounded. I feel as if I'm unrooted and unbalanced and floating aimlessly. Usually I'm okay with that, but every once in a while it's unsettling.

But I've also embraced the liminal. The liminal spaces are where we derive our ability to adapt. Communication and thus anything involving communication such as learning is a liminal form. Movement is liminal because it is the body in a state of being not in one place or another, but travelling between them.

Sometimes when I dance, I enter a trance-like state where there's nothing but me and the movement. It's not about where I'm going, but how I'm getting there, the process. This is when I feel most open to Gods.

I meditate on this sometimes. And I would spin like a whirling Dervish if it helped me find this space.

I don't know what this means, or where I'm going, but I'm taking this as a sign of my own process, of my own queering of religion, of my liminality expressing itself for some greater purpose. I think that's one of the lessons I was meant to learn that day almost two years ago.

Have HeART

I've spent my winter break creating, making thoughtful, personal gifts for people in my life. I don't bring this up as a way of bragging, tooting my own horn and saying how awesome I am, especially considering the majority of people got/will get clone gift bags with homemade candy and a condom (free courtesy of the Sexual Awareness Center office where I work).

No, I bring up this act of creation because, as I was reminded in reading a letter from my friend Emerson, this is a form of heARTwork for me. HeARTwork so far as I know it is activism that comes from the heart and utilizes all the gifts we have to offer the world. It's speaking truth to power. It's genuine. It seeks to make a difference. And for the last few weeks for me, it's catharsis.

I feel hurt and heartbroken in a way I haven't for a few years now. I've had moments sitting in my apartment with only my roommate's cat for company, reading, where a word or a song played on shuffle on the other side of the room catches me off guard and next thing I know, I'm crying. In a sad way, it's kind of a beautiful thing, honestly. So beautiful.

And you probably wouldn't know it looking at me, I'm very good at projecting happiness. No, not projecting, projecting implies a level of falsity. It implies a covering up when this is a parallel. You probably wouldn't know it looking at me, because at the same time, I'm happy. Emotions are complicated, there isn't any kind of crazy paradoxical contradiction going on here.

There are days when I feel so big I could rival Walt Whitman. I am both the happiest and the saddest you will ever see. I am large, I contain multitudes: in this digital culture, I am multiplex, I exist on multiple planes and levels. I can project and be so many things simultaneously.

But I digress.

In the last few years I've been learning this practice of heART. It's a way of moving in the world that integrates art and action and love. You see it in spoken word poets at performing at rallies. You see it in youth workers pouring themselves into their service. Today I'm using this as a gift for my friends.

Much like the warriorship practice I wrote about yesterday, this is a matter of intention. HeART is a flourishing, is a fostering, is a cultivation.

Cultivate v. to improve and render fertile.

It is a service greater than ourselves gifted in something beautiful. A distinction that I might make is that it is additive, always seeking the greatest growth and joy. At times it might leave you feeling bare and reduced, insignificant and marginalized, but always with the seeds of power planted and ready to grow. To me, that's true heART.