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The In Between


I wrote this just after Beltane during the eclipse season in may of 2022.

I'm returning to it as we enter into the darker months

as Samhain approaches

as the veil thins

and I become more comfortable in the in between.


Sitting in an in between

Where there is more darkness than light.

A glimmer of insight and hope with each flicker of the flame.

The dark is abundant

and consuming.


The in between space.


Holding my breath before going under water.

Squinting to see.

A walk into the mist.


In the in between.


Where it's hard to tell man from horse

Woman from serpent

Person from otherworldly being.


In the in between.


What shapes shift,

What becomes of us


In the in between?


Is this where we crumble from the weight?

Or learn all that we can be,

Embrace all of who we are?


Or maybe

This place isn't about learning,

not about action.

But being, observing.


Spending time with the shadows

and the flickers of the flame.

With the mist,

the submergence.

With what we can't quite see.


With those who shift shapes.

Observing.

Listening.

Being.


Maybe I can dance with the shapes and shadows.

Maybe I can breathe under water.

Maybe I don't need to learn how to be a shapeshifter

because I've always been one.


It's just that shapeshifting is called

crazy

and difficult

and too sensitive

and weird

where I grew up.

Where shadows are just as plenty

but they remain hidden.

Kept secret.

Weighed down by fear and shame and ignorance.


Maybe the in between

Is where I've always longed to be.

But this place, where I grew up,

taught me to be scared.

To fear the in between

and what I may discover.


What the mists, and depths, and shapeshifters

[that my ancestors held as sacred]

would show me.

About me.

About what can be.


So here I am


In the in between


Being me.



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