Liminal space

Comfort for the Apocalypse, June 2025

One of the best feelings is waking up out of a dream and realizing that whatever problem or conundrum you were just having in the shadow world no longer has to be solved. The puzzling situation does not have to be understood. It is truly relieving to wake up and discover one hasn’t accidentally given away the valuable dining room table, or forgotten about a graduate studies class they signed up for weeks ago and got behind in attending, or hailed a taxi without knowing the address they wanted to get to. The husband does not need admonishing for leaving wood shavings in the bed, or dumping his belongings on the sidewalk for you to pick up.

The everyday problems one wakes up to become a respite then, even if they are intractable—for the problems in dreams are layered with something else—the disorienting sense you should have known or understood the strange, shifting world inside sleep, but didn’t.

I returned from a vacation in Montreal last week and within a few days of landing, developed some worrying signs of illness that turned out to be Covid. The worst of it is behind me now, and although it wasn’t nearly as bad as the first time I had it, it’s prompted a similar level of introspection—at least, if my dreams are any indication. I’ve slept a lot over the past week, and the dreams have been constant and vivid.

In 2023 when I got sick, I had been working a demanding job in a challenging work environment for the previous 8 months, an assignment I took on to see if I could improve my pensionable earnings as I headed toward my “best five” years*. The particular project was one I believed strongly in the mission of—containing crucial ecological goals which I was eager to contribute to. I signed myself up for a two-year contract that was supposed to extend to five years, thinking I was finally finally stepping into a work home where I could put my problem-solving and analytical skills to good use.

Instead, what I found was an unformed set of goals and a tremendous amount of infighting among a handful of individuals who disagreed over organizational direction and financial priorities. Efforts to build the program quickly turned into efforts to appease the dissatisfied parties. In the broader context of chaotic environmental events at the time—the heat dome and the flooding event, both in the fall of 2022—it became nearly impossible to reach any consensus on how to move forward.

Suffice it to say, work had become an incredibly toxic and embittered place for me. So much so that when I came down with Covid—a potentially deadly illness with lasting complications—I felt relieved. I was off the hook from attending work that week. I didn’t have to face another meeting where I’d be expected to solve problems that others were shovelling in front of me.

Covid hit me with a deep, all-consuming exhaustion. For a full week, I could barely stay awake for more than an hour at a time. My partner was away, so I set up camp on the couch and spent the days drifting in and out of sleep, binge-watching TV shows in a kind of delirium whenever I was conscious. In this state, it wasn’t even a question of whether I could check my email or attend online meetings. It was the kind of sickness that takes over your life.

Even in that fog of sleep and Severance episodes, it wasn’t lost on me that being sick felt like a better option than going to work. I realized I was in a job that felt worse than possibly dying alone on my couch in a haze of croupy exhaustion—and how profoundly messed up that was. It was a crystal-clear moment, one that rang through me: I was not willing to live my life that way. And so, while I was still very sick, I called my partner (sobbing, I was crying non-stop at that point in my Covid journey) and told him I was going to quit and return to my old job.

This time around, my Covid experience hasn’t been nearly so intense for which I’m thankful. For one thing, I only had one day of being flat out on the couch unable to do anything besides watch Facebook reels. And for another, I’ve been able to attend to some priority work in between napping, and happy to do so—returning to my old job meant returning to a much more respectful work environment which I’m able to function in.

And yet, the dreams keep nagging at me. Though each one is different in its details, the feeling is always the same: I’m disoriented and lost. In one, I leave a formal dinner to use the washroom on a university campus I know well, but when I try to return, I take one wrong turn, and then another, and keep doing so all night until I have left the campus and find myself in a city I should know well. Everything looks vaguely familiar but just “off” enough that I can’t get my bearings. I wander alone, without a phone, wallet, or any way to get home. Or in last night’s dream, I got into a cab but couldn’t reach the friend whose home I was headed to. I didn’t have the address, and the driver sped around interstate throughways trying to help orient me.

These are clearly dreams about self-direction and vulnerability. And while I don’t fully understand why they’re surfacing now—unless it’s simply because I’m feeling vulnerable in illness—I’m curious about what they might be pointing toward. For some time now, I’ve been working on defining my creative voice through different media: sketchbook work, writing, playing music with others. But I’ve struggled to land on what I most want to be best at. Instead, I’ve been trying to imagine a version of myself that allows for creative work without self-recrimination, a person who is at ease in one’s life and manifestations.

Although I have worked in therapy, spiritual practice, and other modalities to overcome childhood wounds and adult traumas, I continue to believe myself to be a difficult person, untalented, and dull.

But just as I am in my biological mid-life transition, I have noticed other shifts taking place in my life over the past few months that are helping re-orient some of those stubborn beliefs.

I have taken more ownership of my creative process, and put myself forward to work with others more readily. I have identified some of what I want to work with in my life - such as music - and focused more on practice an initiating work with others. I am currently doing a load of online workshops to practice with different media, to find a voice for the kind of writing and visual-work I would like to do. I am leading a creative practice study group and developing new workshops for the year to come. I have overall become more selfish in my creative practice, trying to prioritize it when I can (which is why my corner of the garden is a bit of a mess right now).

(Even as I’m pushing forward, I wonder why? Why bother at all? Why this need to communicate so fiercely? Why can’t I be content just to tend my orchard?)

Perhaps this is the disorientation my dreams are pointing to. The terrain is always familiar, and yet I cannot get my bearings. A path of my own making, and still I have no idea where it leads. But do we ever truly get our bearings mid-journey? Even when we’ve chosen the direction ourselves, we often remain uncertain, stumbling forward without a clear sense of destination. Only once we’ve reached some kind of stopping point can we look back and see where we have travelled, and what vantage points helped our way-seeking to find the place we ended up.

Liminal spaces - illness, life transition, dreams, airports - are uncomfortable for many of us, and yet this is where new directions are set upon.

A metal plate affixed to the wall outside a Montreal restaurant.

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June Recipe: Cardamom Coconut Chia Pudding

Last summer, during a Zen meditation retreat in the mountains, I was served a chia pudding as part of a formal oryoki-style breakfast. I had always been averse to the idea of chia pudding—though I’m not sure why. But at a Zen retreat, you eat what’s in your bowl. As with so many things in life, I discovered I’d been wrong; it was delicious! I’ve finally gotten around to trying to re-create that version from last summer.

Ingredients

• 1 can coconut milk (full or low-fat)

• 1/2 cup greek yogurt (any fat percentage)

• 1 tsp cardamom

• 1 tsp vanilla

• 1.5 tbsp maple syrup

• 1/4 cup chia seeds

Directions

Blend everything together except the chia seeds until it's creamy, then mix in the chia seeds. Let it sit for about 10 minutes, then stir again to break up any clumps. Refrigerate for 2+ hours to set. I top mine with hemp seeds for extra fibre and protein, and fruit (banana or raspberry). Makes an awesome breakfast or dessert. This makes 4 half-cup servings.

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In the studio

Studio time has been a bit intermittent lately, as I’ve been playing more music. Still, I’ve managed some book-making and sketchbook play this past week. I’m really captivated by bookbinding these days, though I find it tricky to photograph the results—something I plan to work on. I’m also hoping to get back on the loom soon, but there are only so many hours in the day—though the longer light certainly helps!

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Three things

Rest is Sacred: Reclaiming our brilliance through the practice of stillness - Octavia F. Raheem | This is a beautiful and nourishing book of sutras to encourage rest in hectic world. Poetic, nap-sized poems to read as one takes a breath in this chaotic world.

Jenny, Eleanor, and Laura et al.: This is Not a Book About Marx - Valerie Lebvre-Faucher | an essay of 80 pages that explores the intellectual roles of women in Marx’s life (and in early communist/feminist theorizing), and makes the greater point that *all* writing, and *all* intellectualizing is a communal process. A short read, but packed with so much good thinking.

On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century - Timothy Snyder | This is also a short read, making the rounds right now because it is a manual to what unfolds before us. I’m keeping this one close at hand as a continual reminder to make eye contact and not obey in advance.

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And finally….

I had a party recently (before Montreal and before I got sick), and some really good friends were there. In the mix, Comfort for the Apocalypse came up and it was noted that I had not written for awhile. Those friends were encouraging (insistent, even) that I get back to it. I really appreciated that. It’s nice to know that people read your work. So this is a thank-you to all those who got this far.

I haven’t been writing because I’ve felt a bit blocked. I’m not sure I need to write about the apocalypse anymore—it’s pretty clear what we’re up against—but I’m also not ready to rebrand this newsletter. So if you’re still with me, I think things are going to meander around a bit here. I mean, it’s not like the apocalypse is going anywhere—it will continue to shape the background of my writing. But I’ve too often stopped myself from writing here because I thought my ideas weren’t “on theme.” Enough of that, eh?

This is about the only place you can find me online these days - so like and comment if you want to encourage me. I will do the same for you, online and in person! Stay well friends!