The Liminal Space

I struggle to write this, but I must. I have to push through this heavy and muddled newfound nihility. My mind is a vacuum, illogically permeating an impenetrable fog. I’ve lost the desire to write, or fight — everything has left me.

Burnt out, and disillusioned, are the only words I can muster; a dissolved lust for life, and a sour odour of affliction, lingers far too long. Even my thoughts lay too cumbrous for me to sweep through the dense maze of derangement — to discern the wheat from the chaff.

Each day, I strive to push through a mental tunnel of misconstrued voices; are they mine, or are they the severed parts of me? Perhaps a portion are the remnants of words from writers, who compassionately endorsed me, to even those who rebuked me.

How can I ever forget the kind soul whose generous gratuity, answered my unending prayers of anxiety.

Yes, these lodestars, they radiated through my harder days, steering me back to God’s infinite grace. Still, my arid season is unrelenting, and its thirst doesn’t appear to be ever finally quenched. I am lost and invisible.

One night, I dream that my body becomes transparent, yet there I stood, conscious, still a person walking this Earth, with no apparent body. From deep fear — I shout for God from the basement of my lungs, as I ache for my words to reach Him. “Please God, don’t leave me like this — don’t leave me invisible.” The terror of being unseen by others, woke me — startling me to my core. To be physically blocked here on Earth, how can we survive; it felt like purgatory.

Many dreams I am encountering of late are disturbing: the anomalous coal-black wormlike creature, with its malicious visage and razored teeth, which refuse to let go of my hand — an agonising vicelike grip. I’m able to finally yank off his jaws with all my strength, then have to keep tugging out its venomous mutations from the bite — long and numerous strands — which I see as metaphors for the consequences of my rash life choices.

Burnt out and nowhere to turn, I wish I had more answers. I have worked tirelessly, day after day — month after month and year after year. Season after season, in which I’ve failed to create a better outcome from income — security, to then search another way, another creation — only to fail once again. Now I am stuck, and the squeeze has started to affect my life in more definite ways.

I need a miracle.

Through all that time I impelled myself through stillborn outcomes, and with each knock back, I got back up. Until I didn’t.

Until now — I can’t.

This current season came with a jagged jolt and galvanised me from any equity I vaguely had. I crashed onto those staggered sharp rocks that are surrounded by the blackest of seas.

Another dream, or three — the immense blue-sky rains warped stars, and curious shapes that I don’t understand. The expansive power of a living entity that fills the outer space around our planet — like a colossal being, making our world appear fragile and small. These dreams flood my mind night after night, as I call out for answers, a Creator, a purpose, and a way through.

And here, in my waking day, I struggle to get back up, as I had done before with every minute, of each day. My direction has clouded over, and my map has evaporated into oblivion. I possess only the littlest of energy to keep myself sane, as I silently plead, while my heart heaves — to hear God’s voice, once again.

* Written at a time of feeling great despair & numbness during my current arduous season. Published in my poetry chapbook: In Search of My Soul on Amazon.

© Chantal Weiss 2025. All Rights Reserved