ABSTRACT
There is no alternative for an open heart but to bear loss. Despite reality,it remains a shock to me that a force of nature can really be brought down by death. This is evident to me now, stricken as I am by the loss of my teacher, beloved by many, who looked to be protected by the intensity of love that he bestowed on others, and the force of love that sought to protect him. As it became increasingly evident that he would succumb to his death, the sadness that stands alongside all relationships took possession of my heart. Painfully now, I close the liminal space of my imagination, where he would always be teaching. I will no longer hear his recitations of the epic poems, and the beautiful and strange sounds of a language that had never before held any meaning. It is hard to close the heavy door to fantasy, for in that space, there were so many possibilities. It was a liminal space – an imaginal space, where we would travel to Greece, or even just the museum. He would show me the vases, black figures circling the rust-coloredpottery. Though they always looked the same to me, he would reveal their unique messages. In the library, he would show me poems of Jeffers and Tennyson and I would carefully note: “This one is his favorite poem.” Books that I had never thought to open would compel me, and I would say, as I often had before, “How could I have not known this was here? Where else can we go? Tell me what I am missing.” His voice is already fading and I must close that door – I must close that world. If I were to allow myself to enter the liminal space of my imagination, he would not be sick and I could count on forever. For in the liminal space of my imagination, no one dies, and everyone I love is immortal. Relationships are so unforgiving in their endings. It is a miracle that we remain so willing. Can the liminal space of memory ever suffice? What is the great human elixir that entices us to enter into a relationship when each is bound to end?
