photo: P. Rugani
The one year anniversary of my not posting on this blog came and went in March, accompanied by the expected flicker of good intentions to remedy the situation that quietly came to nothing.
Some time between then and this writing, the realisation settled in that it’s time for this blog to end.
I’ve tried to spin this realisation out into elaborate reasons and justifications, but it boils down simply to this: there’s no energy for me here any more. Blogs, and the creative cycles they offer platforms to, have natural lifespans, yet it’s so tempting when a cycle has ended to leave the blog hanging on, open and untended, in the event that one day, maybe ….
Trailing threads need to be tied off and snipped, or else they remain a subliminal tug on our attention. ‘It’s there, I really ought to be doing something with it’. For now, I don’t feel the need to have a public outlet for my writing that compels me to keep writing for an audience on my mental to-do list. So, there won’t be an immediate successor to The Place Between Stories.
Over the year that I’ve not been posting here my energies have turned elsewhere: to inhabiting my new home, to training as a life coach, and to the first steps of a shamanic healing course that I know is but the beginning of a far longer and deeper journey. In this time too, many things have been let go or fallen away for me, and I have both luxuriated and grieved in the empty spaces left behind.
I’ve also recently been taking Charles Eisenstein’s on-line course ‘The Space Between Stories’. One of the insights that has taken form for me through this course is that the space between stories is, received one way, itself a story; received another way, a salutary suspension of all stories. We go beyond it – or seek to get over it – and it remains with us, ever-present in its potential to interrupt the believed-in trajectory of a life, or a civilization. That space will have its way with us, and one of those ways is the realization that too many of our stories are too small. We – and it’s a westernized, rationalized, self-interested and in control ‘we’ that I’m invoking here – depend on stories, and make them too certain, too deterministic, too limited in the scope of their truth, too reliant on unacknowledged privilege. This can even be the case when we are trying with all our hearts to entertain and enter a new story.
Next to this, on the private Space Between Stories course forum, I’ve witnessed the tender, respectful accumulation of the stories lived by us course participants begin to pick away at these confinements.
A couple of the questions that have crystallised for me through The Space Between Stories are: ‘how to not know’ and ‘how to make a bigger container’. I think the spirit of those enquiries has always inspired The Place Between Stories in some oblique shape or form, but writing and illustrating a blog doesn’t currently satisfy me as a means of living those questions. My attention is travelling elsewhere, towards the admittedly pragmatic task of how to offer my coaching and, in time, my healing work to those who may need to find it; and towards emptying more space for myself in which to luxuriate, grieve and not know.
So I’ll be leaving this blog up on-line, archive of a sidestepping journey that it mattered a lot to me to take, and signing out for good with thanks, appreciation and blessings to those who have genuinely read, responded and travelled with me along some of the way.