I believe I posted Chas Eisenstein’s original article about the “Space Between [your] Stories” … and here’s a revisit to this theme by way of Lissa Rankin. Many of us (if not all at some point) have known/ are now in/ will experience this possibly frightening place. Be gentle with self & others who ‘fall into’ what can feel like a deep dark dry well, an endless blank hallway, or outer reaches of the galaxy. Keep the faith, this is a journey; it’s the challenges that we’re actually here to grow, evolve, or serve through. oxo Whitehawk
This week, I experienced a trauma that collapsed my story of self, yet a new story has not yet emerged. Charles Eisenstein calls this “the space between stories.” Many of us are in this space between stories right now, when you feel lost, ungrounded, dislocated, as if your roots have been pulled up and you’re not quite sure where to land. Everything you thought you knew—about yourself and the world—is now in question. Even our systems—the medical system, our political systems, the education system, the banking system—they’re in the space between stories too. We know the old way is falling apart, yet the new way has not yet been born.
As Charles writes in The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know Is Possible:
So please, if you are in the sacred space between stories, allow yourself to be there. It is frightening to lose the old structures of security, but you will find that even as you might lose things that were unthinkable to lose, you will be okay. There is a kind of grace that protects us in the space between stories. It is not that you won’t lose your marriage, your money, your job, or your health. In fact, it is very likely that you will lose one of these things. It is that you will discover that even having lost that, you are still okay. You will find yourself in closer contact to something much more precious, something that fires cannot burn and thieves cannot steal, something that no one can take and cannot be lost.
Earlier this week, I attended the memorial of the sixth person I loved who has died in the past six months. Along with others, I witnessed the deceased’s fiancé navigate her own space between stories. They were supposed to get married this year, and instead, they had to say goodbye. As she got up to speak at the memorial, she looked up at his photo on the projected screen and, with tears in her eyes, she said, “What are you doing up there?” The woman who was supposed to be the maid of honor hosted the ceremony as we all held each other in arms of grieving, celebrating, laughing, crying love. When we realize we are not in this lost space alone, we find comfort in the communion of the raw, unguarded, blown open heart.
Who Am I?