“Sometimes I feel that my life is a series of trapeze swings. I’m either hanging on to a trapeze
bar swinging along or, for a few moments in my life, I’m hurtling across space in between
trapeze bars…
But, every once in a while as I’m merrily (or even not-so-merrily) swinging along, I look out
ahead of me into the distance and what do I see? I see another trapeze bar swinging toward
me. It’s empty and I know, in that place in me that knows, that this new trapeze bar has my
name on it. It is my next step, my growth, my aliveness coming to get me. In my heart of hearts I
know that, for me to grow, I must release my grip on this present, well known bar and move to
the new one…
Each time it happens to me I hope (no, I pray) that I won’t have to let go of my old bar
completely before I grab the new one. But in my knowing place, I know that I must totally
release my grasp on my old bar and, for some moment in time, I must hurtle across space
before I can grab onto the new bar…
So, for an eternity that can last a microsecond or a thousand lifetimes,
I soar across the dark void of “the past is gone, the future is not here yet.” It’s called “transition”.
I have come to believe that this transition is the only place that real change occurs.
I have noticed that, in our culture, this transition zone is looked upon as a “no-thing,” a no-place
between places. Sure, the old trapeze bar was real, and that new one coming towards me, I
hope that’s real, too. But the void in between? Is that just a scary, confusing, disorienting
nowhere that must be gotten through as fast and as unconsciously as possible?
NO! What a wasted opportunity that would be…it remains that the
transition zones in our lives are incredibly rich places. They should be honored, even savored.
Yes, with all the pain and fear and feelings of being out of control that can (but not necessarily)
accompany transitions, they are still the most alive, most growth-filled, passionate, expansive
moments of our lives.”
This edited version of Danaan Parry’s The Parable of the Trapeze, made familiar to many of us through my soul brother Fran McKendree, eloquently articulates the space in which all of us, at times, find ourselves. It is the place that often feels like the uncomfortable in-between. A regular rhythm has departed—or has been abruptly ripped away—and we are left waiting, often desperately, for what comes next.
The challenge described in The Parable of the Trapeze is that we want to move through this space as quickly as possible. This is completely understandable, as we humans inherently value control and clarity.
Theologian Richard Rohr describes this transitional process as a movement from order, to disorder, to reorder. He suggests there is much to be learned during the time of disorder—that it can, in fact, be deeply transformative as reorder begins to emerge. For this to happen, however, we must lean into—or, as Parry writes, honor rather than run from or rush through—the time of unknowing.
The Latin word limen is the origin of what we call liminal space: a threshold experience in which familiar structures loosen, certainty fades, and change becomes possible. Celtic Christianity speaks of this liminal space as a thin place, where the boundary between the human and the divine becomes thin—porous, almost transparent.
Each of us encounters times in life when what we have known is gone and what is to come has not yet been revealed. These moments may be precipitated by trauma or simply by the natural transitions of life. In these seasons of unknowing, there is an invitation to lean into the liminal space and to embrace the thin place that is opening before us—a space where transformation can .