Let's meet at the water's edge
and stop adding to the noise
I had a vision recently, early in the morning as my body and mind were waking up to another day.
I was standing at the shore of an ocean, it was daytime, the sky a hazy blue, the sun calling me toward the waves. At first, I was bringing one friend along with me to stand there and hold space by the water.
But suddenly, there were hundreds, thousands of people gathering there, this almost global, if not certainly communal, urge for everyone to stand there by the water.
And there we were, all of us, gathered together at the edge of the ocean. But we weren’t there to swim, or to chat, or to celebrate. We were there to listen.
We were all silent.
Like we’ve all been so hungry for someone to quiet our aches, to shush us like babies, to lull us into peace, if even for a few moments.
We were ceremonially gathering at the water’s edge, choosing to pause the noise.
I’m going to hold onto this vision for a long time, and I think we need it right now.
I recently shared in Notes these words:
I know we are obviously all here because we love and believe in words. But right now we are over saturated by them—on social media, in the news, yes even in our substack newsletters.
I want words that come from the deep places of silence where I’ve been listening, not reactionary words. I want medicine words.
How about you?
We are oversaturated. And here I am, writing that to you on Substack—the irony, I know!
I promise you this: I won’t ever write something here unless I know I need to write it. That’s why I didn’t start out The Liminality Journal with a statement like “I’ll send you a post twice a week” because that forces a kind of pressure to just throw more words onto the internet, and I am really uninterested in that.
I will write to you when I have something I need to say, something that’s been sitting in me for a least a few days, working its way through me. I’ll write to you when I want you to know something about my work, because if words are medicine, I want us to celebrate that medicine together. And in May, we will write daily poetry together as an act of resistance, care, and solidarity.
So, here we are.
Will you stand at the edge of the ocean with me and simply listen?
I don’t mean this simply as a metaphor. I mean: will you get quiet daily, spend time listening to The Sacred, to your own soul? Will you quiet the noise, get off social media, check the news responsibly, and hold space around you?
We all need each other to do this. Gather with me.
I have been longing for water so much lately, so this vision doesn’t surprise me. I’m feeling overwhelmed, and water is a balm for physical pain and spiritual chaos, a lull to quiet us, to hold us, just there at the shore.
I recently sent an apology message to someone on Facebook because a few years ago, I responded to a kind and curious message with an (only slightly) vague Instagram post instead of engaging with the person in a direct conversation. Why?
Because I was living in a reactionary way on social media, thinking that even as an Indigenous woman I needed to make a statement about everything and anything, that I needed to show everyone what it’s really like, that I needed to add to the “conversation” when I really adding to the noise. And I regretted it immediately.
Make no mistake, I receive messages that are certainly worth calling out as an example of how we shouldn’t be with one another, but this one wasn’t that. He was curious and kind, and I wasn’t.
I could have chosen to sit with his message for a few days, even a week, and I would have realized that it was one worth responding to in a way that fostered kinship. But I didn’t, and because I didn’t, I only added to the noise and toxic energy of the internet at the expense of a wonderful connection.
I needed the edge of the water then, and I need it now.
I worry for us in this moment, that we stretch and reach for any possible way to bring outrage to ourselves and one another in these spaces. And I know friends, there is plenty to be outraged about—share that, respond as you need, engage community—but also hold space at the edge of your ocean.
Words are medicine
Words are medicine
Words are medicine
Go find your medicine at the water’s edge.
I want to share a few exciting things with you!
First, Spring’s Miracles is out next week!
Pre-order a signed copy of the book here
And as a bonus, below is the seek and find that comes with Spring’s Miracles, feel free to download it now!
And lastly, some really exciting news: I’m headed to Iona, Scotland for the launch of my upcoming book, Everything Is a Story!
I’ll be launching the book at a Writer’s Festival this October, and would love for you to come! If you are a writer or creative and want to spend a few days with others sharing, creating, and holding space at the edges of the water together, please join us.
There is a special opportunity to join a wonderful community on a pilgrimage to Iona led by Interfaith Alignment:
Journey with a group from Alignment to the sacred Isle of Iona
to live and work and learn in community for a special week of storytelling. Meet authors from around the world and find space for your own practices of writing.
You can find all the information here, we hope to see you this fall!
“Silence is an ocean. Speech is a river. When the ocean is searching for you, don't walk into the river. Listen to the ocean.”
Rumi
Thank you again, Kaitlin, for being a voice, word and wordless, that brings me to the Water’s Edge where wisdom, beauty, balance and love appear more clearly. Your writing helped me get through the arduous times of the pandemic, and you are doing the same in leading through whatever these times will come to be called. 🙏🏻