The Liminal Space Between The Human and The Natural World
Connecting with nature on any level has an extraordinary ability to uplift us, ground us, take us back in time, and keep us looking to the future. For me, going for a walk with my binoculars around my neck is a spiritual act. When I set off, I walk to the end of my drive and decide there and then where I am going to wander, and I walk until I feel it's time to leave.
Removing myself from others and my work and placing myself out in nature for this brief amount of time creates a space in my mind otherwise inaccessible. Sometimes, I close my eyes for a few minutes and slowly walk straight along whatever path I find myself on. I listen to the notes of the wind as it blows through the branches and the layers of bird song trilling through the leaves, and for that moment, my thoughts are carried along by the sound. As someone with unpredictable mental health, it's a relief to allow my mind to guided by the sounds of nature, instead of thinking about matters such as university, work, family and preparing for the future.
As a student of English Literature, I often think of the Romantic poets, and the concept of Nature's sublime. My last walk was particularly poignant in this regard, which is why I wanted to share it. I didn't venture far from my house at all, but the ruralness of the landscape made me feel as if I was miles from anyone and I imagined that I was the only person on Earth. It was a fairly gloomy day, very overcast but luckily not too cold. From across the field I had entered, I saw a buzzard perched on a ragged branch. The bird didn't move as I approached it, but I stopped at a reasonable distance nonetheless. From its wooden throne, the buzzard was poised and ready, surveying the territory and preparing to hunt. Adapt and efficient, the bird was a powerful figure in this environment; both in its place within the food chain and in the power it had over me, a simple observer gazing into this patch of the natural world and trying to understand my place within it all. With that thought, the buzzard took off and I was alone again.
I walked a while around the perimeter of the field in silence, thinking about the politics of the natural world, and how every creature has its place. I ran my hands along the hedgerow and consider how each thorn, berry and bud serves an unintentional purpose — not planned or reasoned, but extraordinarily propitious nonetheless. Or to watch the thrushes feasting on the mistletoe above me and to see the symbiotic relationship between the bird and the plant unknowingly working like clockwork for mutual gain.
As I considered these things I felt very outside of it all, and in that moment I stood in a liminal space. I had removed myself from the human world but equally I could not fully immerse myself in the natural world — again, I am just an observer. I think that this is why I want to write about the natural world. I believe that, although the human and natural world intersect, they are entirely two different societies and we will never truly understand the other. The closest I can get however, is following a path that allows me to constantly learn about the natural and enter that liminal space of observation every single day.
In my moment of contemplation, the rain began to fall. A murder of crows flew overheard, cawing and circling the grey sky. With no cars or people around, the rain and the birds were all I could hear and the sound echoed across the landscape. It was refreshing, almost as if I had been carefully removed from my own head and cleansed, before being place back down in my everyday life. And with that, I knew it was time to go home.