Wisdom In Between

Originally Published in the Castlegar News on August 24, 2023.

I love the song creation sings at the ending of the day. I love the brilliant canvas of the setting sky, even as we humans prepare for rest. Walking down the beach at Syringa Creek, sun setting above, a sudden splash followed by the flap of heron’s wings mark the beginning of a transition from day to night. 

Before day ends and night begins, the sky breaks forth in one last exuberant dance of purple, orange, and pink, beneath cumulus clouds. Soon the sky too will rest, fading into so many shades of bluish gray. Even so, the darkness is never darkness, interspersed as it is with stars, satellites, and meteors illuminating the vast expanse of interstellar space.

On the banks of the river at dusk, I experienced this liminal time—a time in-between. It is neither day nor night. It is neither bright nor dark. Walking barefoot on the shore, one foot on land, another in water, my feet relay the story of a place in-between, as toes sink deeply into the river’s marsh.

Life’s shores ebb, they flow.
Unconcerned with solid ground,
the wild depths beckon. 

So often we approach life in terms that are black and white. We look for easy ways to categorize and understand the world. On the surface, these tidy boxes help us get through our days with ease. We put situations, experiences, people, and groups in particular boxes. One group (usually ours) is in. The others are out. 

The truth is, despite my best efforts, I sometimes struggle when the world doesn’t fit into simplistic binaries. The river’s edge at dusk teaches a new appreciation for difference, presenting me with the complex reality of life in-between.

There are plenty of times I bump into situations or people I’ve never encountered before. There are times I encounter people whose life experience confuses the story I’ve been told about “how the world really works.” And while this is good for me—while this is good for individuals and society, for those who are religious and those who are not—it can challenge, even seem to threaten us. 

In such moments, it’s far easier to project our insecurity, telling another person that they are confused, rather than admit the limits of our own understanding. It’s easier to shut another person down than to invite another story into conversation. And yet we need these stories. We need each other and each others’  stories. The stories of our lives with all their ups and downs, our experience of the world, our stories of spiritual encounters—even the ones that keep us at a loss for words—all contribute to our growing understanding of life’s multifaceted beauty and the reality of divine love. 

So often when the stories we’ve inherited come up against new stories and experiences, we respond by putting up walls. Sometimes we patrol these boundaries with anger or violence, afraid that these new stories—others’ experiences that are new to us—put our story or our way of understanding the world under threat.

Yet down at the river’s edge on a summer night, a greater truth is revealed.  

The sunset is not a threat to either day or night. Marshes and intertidal zones do not threaten the integrity of lakes and rivers and oceans, let alone grassland, rainforest, or mountain. Each adds texture, nuance, and complexity. They add something—they do not take away. 

Returning to the city when my vacation comes to an end, I want to bring these riverside lessons with me. I want to be the kind of person who encounters new stories not with fear or defensiveness, but with openness to what they reveal about human experience and divine encounter.

In an earlier time, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:

“Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God,
But only he who sees takes off his shoes.”

As we encounter the rich beauty of humanity, of creation, and the divine spark that infuses all, may we be a people who take off our shoes. May we enter these moments of encounter with wonder. May we open ourselves to the gift of each moment, each story, each person. 

With each fading sunset and each growing sunrise, may we be awakened to a renewed sense of wonder, appreciation, and awe at the divine gift of our shared, kaleidoscopic humanity.