The
Riparian Zone
“The
riparian zone is remarkably like what some faith traditions refer to as liminal
space, the uncertain territory between two more certain realities. How often times
in my own life are like what happens in the riparian zone: the ground under my
feet softens, my steps turn tentative, and I become unsure of where and how to
move ahead. This is the geography of trust and transformation, where the safe
shore dissolves and we feel disoriented as we consider what we should do next.”
Diana
Butler Bass (Grounded: Finding God in the World: A Spiritual Revolution, p.90;
Harper One, 2015)
The
riparian zone is the muddy edge of a river or any large body of water. It is
marshland, it is a strip of ground that is slippery and unreliable for
stepping on. One day, when I was at Emerald Isle on the Outer Banks of North
Carolina, I wanted to spread my paints out on a picnic table and work on something in my journal. Close by, there was a salt marsh pond, so I took a small jar I’d brought with me and walked over to the edge to fill it. Two mallards, who
were paddling near the shore, watched me closely. About five feet from the edge
of the pond, the ground became less solid, and within another step, it clearly
was as much water as earth. I stopped to assess the situation and had a brief
stand-off with the mallard couple—I promise you they were watching to see what this
fool human would do. I think they were taking bets. Since I clearly was about to
get a shoe full of salty, muddy water, I backed up and retreated to the picnic
table to do something besides paint in my journal.
The
riparian zone is not usually an attractive area, and yet it is a most vital
piece of ground. On the other side of the island, the Atlantic Ocean had
created a wide sand beach, packed hard enough to run on. It gave the impression
that all was solid along the shoreline. But if you stepped into the water, you
were likely to be swept off your feet by a rapid undercurrent and sliding sand.
The shoreline between land and water is liminal space—a space in which we must
make decisions—stay or go, jump in, or stay on the firm, reliable ground. In
water, you must give up your safe, two-footed stance and embrace being aquatic—unless
you’re Jesus, you can’t walk on it, so you must swim.
T.S. Eliot
wrote about the river as “a strong brown god—sullen, untamed and intractable.”
He said, “The river is within us, the sea is all about us.” Very often
when we have a decision to make, when we are wrestling with our angels, we
benefit from going to the ocean, a river, or a lake—standing at the edge, with
the rhythmic sound of water flowing, our minds are swept clean, the chaos
subsides, and we can allow the answers to come.
Just a week after I was
at Emerald Isle, a storm blew up the coast and washed several houses right off
their pilings and into the waves. They were built in the riparian zone—never a
good idea. It is a place to visit, not to live. Go there, decide what is next
for you, then come back to the human world transformed, and do what must be
done. In this liminal zone, we encounter the hugeness of creation, which helps
us to gain perspective—to understand that we are more like the mallards than
the sun.
In the Spirit,
Jane
No comments:
Post a Comment