Walking alone by the lake I see the grey heron standing so perfectly still my heart either leaps in joy or stops for an instant, I am not sure which.
The meaning of the heron deals with being comfortable in spaces that are neither here, nor there. It prefers hunting at twilight, which is a symbolic and magical time of ‘in-between’. The heron will have one foot on land, and one foot in the water – this action has been recognized by ancient cultures as a sign of liminality – of crossing into the a space that is neither here, nor there.
So often these days I feel like I am floating between one reality and another. Out in the world I see the busy people rushing about. Sometimes I rush too and get caught up in the worries and the fears. The grey streets, the grey faces, the wind like a torrent of grey air sweeping down from grey sky –
I turn away then and walk alone beneath trees. I see the way the branches stretch out against the dove grey sky and the leaves hang in slate grey ikebana arrangements of exquisite understated beauty.
This morning on the radio I heard a song I didn’t know. “The soul got out of the memory box,” the woman sung. “Ah that explains it,” I thought. “My soul’s gotten out of the memory box and beats now in synch with my heart. I am neither here nor there but somewhere in between.”