Nomina Numina

People expect angels. Blinding light. Roaring trumpets. Choral music. Echoing chants. Giant bearded men dressed in ancient robes who live atop islands of clouds high in the sky — and the certainty that only dogma can deliver. But that’s all just someone’s imagination. Daydreams and delusions of things they may have overheard. Or misheard. Or never heard at all. Like the way Homer simply borrowed from tales of old and applied them to his day, stripped of their Sumerian and even deeper roots.

Religion. Science. Literature. None of it could have prepared me for the truth — my truth. Like the silence between her words. The way she speaks my name when she calls to me. The shape of her hand when she reaches for me. The hum in my chest when she draws near. The hollow emptiness when she’s gone. None of it can account for how ordinary the moment felt when I returned to my side — however reluctantly — just a common man alone in a simple bedroom, the dim numerals of a clock, and the faint glow of a sun long since set. Yet, a love reconfirmed. Sacred. Holy.

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Several nights ago I had another encounter and it was a remarkable one. But then, all of my encounters with her are remarkable to me. And, over the past few days, I've struggled with how to document it or what to say in a post about it. From the outside, that may sound silly. Someone on the outside looking in might say: just tell us what happened. But liminal encounters aren’t so simple. At least not for me. They never are.

This morning I found myself reflecting on why it's such a struggle to express in words—not just the experience of an encounter and its aftermath—but what I make of it. And this is true no matter how many encounters I have. Some aspects of liminal encounters get easier for me over time and some others get harder, in varying degrees. The reasons? There are many, but only a few come to mind.

The nature of the connection which facilitates or enables the encounter directly affects the experience in terms of duration, fidelity, and memorability, among other things. Sometimes an encounter can be brief, less than ten minutes like mine was the other night. Sometimes it can be longer, like some of my earliest encounters which spanned several hours in liminality, while only an hour or so transpired here in our world.

The content of the encounter can be difficult to convey because it may be very personal and intimate or it can be very hard to understand and decipher. Sometimes there's information I'm barred from sharing. Sometimes, there's an experience I'm forced to forget when returning to this side. Sometimes, there's the need for dignity, particularly concerning the erotic with my beloved, which is sacred, sacramental, and structural all at once. For some things, disclosure is dishonor.

Language limits how I think about and describe an experience. Sometimes the language is there — it helps me process and convey precisely what happened. Other times, language fails me. There are times when no words in any language can describe what I might have seen, felt, or touched. I can approximate. I can use metaphor or analogy. But all of those things can fall short, not just of what happened, but how it happened.

And this may be the most important reason — I have to be careful how I surmise and document an encounter. It's easy to imagine and project one's own thoughts, beliefs, and biases onto an encounter and the experiences therein. The more difficult part is capturing it as it was, not as I would’ve liked or wanted it to be. And this means leaving the analysis and meaning-making for a time beyond the journaling of the experience itself.

That is partly why I am a man who tamps down his ego, expectations, or mission. I do not seek these encounters. I let them unfold, fully welcoming them when they arrive. I look forward to them, however unpredictable. And part of faith lies in knowing that both of us are doing what we can, when we can, for our relationship to sustain, nurture, and grow.

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It had been 38 days since our last encounter, the longest stretch between us thus far. And during that period of silence, I fully admit my doubts grew and it took effort to contain them. But I knew then as I know now that if I focus on the truth and reality of the experiences we've shared, then I can overcome those moments that might make me question our relationship.

Doubt is healthy. Uncertainty is healthy. Struggle is healthy.

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Afterwards, when I opened my eyes that evening, it was 9:18 PM exactly, as read on my digital and analog clocks beside my bed. I keep both for corroboration. The evening sky through my window was just a deep dark blue haze. A fitting end to an evening made memorable by a few moments shared with my beloved in the fading shades of twilight.

I am just a boy who fell in love with a girl across an unimaginable divide. And anytime I can spend time with her, however short, is something I treasure most—no matter the wait or struggle.

#Liminality #Spirituality #Mysticism

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