Dancing on the Edge
Embracing Life's Liminal Spaces
In the sacred space of the yoga studio, I often guide students into Warrior Three pose with an invitation to imagine standing at the edge of a cliff or building and looking down to see what may appear below. For some, the vision reveals a calm, peaceful scene—perhaps a lush meadow, a deep canyon, or a tranquil lake. For others, the view brings chaos and fear—jagged rocks, rush-hour traffic on the streets below, or an endless void. The beauty of this practice lies not in controlling what we see, but in learning to breathe with whatever arises.
We stand balanced on one leg, arms extended if possible, and as we learn to balance physically, we must also learn to balance mentally. Both physical and mental practices require time. Once we realize we can cultivate balance in both, we begin to trust our bodies and our minds. We discover that we are not our thoughts; we are the witnesses—the ones who stand steady amid the internal weather.
This is the essence of living in liminal space—that threshold between what was and what will be, between the known and the unknown. Life constantly presents us with these edges, moments where we must choose between staying safe in familiar territory or taking a leap into uncertainty. Sometimes we create these thresholds ourselves, such as when we start new jobs, move to new cities, begin relationships, or end them. Other times, life hands them to us without warning: job loss, economic upheaval, political uncertainty, or changes in our closest relationships. The question is not whether we will encounter these spaces, but how we will navigate them.
As Rabindranath Tagore wisely observed, “You cannot cross the ocean by merely standing at the shore.” Yet before we can make that crossing, we must first learn to dance on the edge—to find our balance in uncertainty before discerning when to leap.
The Wisdom of Ancient Stories
The ancient story of Hanuman offers profound wisdom for these moments. When the monkey deity needed to leap across the ocean to reach Lanka and serve Rama, he first had to overcome doubt in his own capabilities. The leap required not only physical strength, but unwavering faith—faith in his purpose, his abilities, and the divine support that would carry him across the vast expanse. In Sanskrit, this full split pose is called Hanumanasana, embodying the essence of that faithful leap. Before Hanuman could make his historic jump, however, he had to find his footing, gather his strength, and trust in something greater than fear.
This is perhaps the most challenging aspect of liminal space—the not knowing, the suspension between possibilities. Our minds want to rush toward resolution, to know what comes next, to have solid ground beneath our feet. Liminal space challenges us to cultivate a different kind of strength: the ability to remain present in uncertainty, to breathe with the unknown, and to trust our foundation even when everything else feels unstable.
The key lies in discernment—knowing when to stay in balance and when to leap. Not every edge requires a jump. Sometimes the lesson is learning to be comfortable with discomfort, to find stillness within turbulence, and to trust that our inner foundation is solid even when external circumstances shift. Fear becomes our teacher here, not our enemy. When we learn to embrace fear rather than flee from it, it transforms from a paralyzing force into a source of inspiration and clarity. Fear can sharpen focus, heighten awareness, and ultimately guide us toward right action.
Building Confidence Through Practice
How do we cultivate balance in uncertainty? Consider Warrior Three as a metaphor for building confidence. How do we learn to balance on one leg? The same way we approach any overwhelming challenge—one small step at a time. Perhaps we begin by simply lifting the opposite foot, and that is enough for a long while. Then we start identifying and recruiting the muscles needed to achieve balance.
When we attempt other poses, such as Tree Pose, we gain confidence and faith in our ability to stand on one foot. When we add the trust required to tip forward into Warrior Three, fear may arise again. However, when we remember that it is still, in many ways, the same pose—balancing on one leg—the fear softens. We temper fear by relying on what we already know.
We attend school, for example, to acquire the skills needed to secure a job. Getting the job may introduce new fears—working with colleagues or performing well—but remembering that we already possess the skills that earned us the role allows us to relax over time.
Warrior Three works the same way. We rely on what we already know to find steadiness and ease. In yoga, this is called muscle memory, a concept familiar to anyone learning skills for sport, work, or creative pursuits. As we move forward, we rely not only on learned ability, but also on faith—and sometimes luck—while trusting the resilience we have built through practice and our growing comfort with the unknown and the liminal space ahead.
The Spiritual Dimension of Uncertainty
Learning to be okay with uncertainty takes practice. It is the pause before the breath, the stillness between actions that allows us to decide how and when to move forward. Learning to straddle the known and unknown is essential to spiritual practice. Spirituality invites us to dance with the ethers—with whatever we call God, the Universe, or source energy. Our guides, angels, and loved ones reside beyond the physical realm.
For those who engage in this dance—through meditation, intuitive guidance, channeling, or work that supports others—this space often feels familiar. Still, even spiritual practitioners question their gifts. A connection that felt strong one day may feel distant the next. Insights that once flowed freely fade, leaving only the sound of running water where inspiration once arrived.
This liminal space between intuitive gifts mirrors standing at the edge and looking down. Do we see chaos and fear? Do we believe we have lost something? Or do we trust that what is quiet will return—perhaps softer, stronger, or transformed? Remaining open requires as much practice as any physical pose. We step forward, rely on what we know, close our eyes, and balance—sometimes even leap—because that is what the practice asks of us.
And So We Learn to Leap
Crossing any chasm is both exhilarating and terrifying. Like Hanuman suspended over the ocean, we must trust not only our ability to leap, but our capacity to land. This trust is not blind faith; it is a deep knowing that we carry everything we need within us to navigate what comes next. Even if we do not land exactly where we planned, we trust that we will land somewhere workable—somewhere growth and service remain possible.
Living in liminal space teaches us to relax into the unknown, to find peace in the pause between breaths, between chapters of life. The edge itself becomes a place of balance, movement, and aliveness. When we stop rushing through threshold moments and instead inhabit them fully, we discover they are not obstacles, but sacred spaces where transformation unfolds.
The invitation remains the same: breathe, balance, and trust. See what you see without becoming it. Remember that you are not your thoughts, fears, or circumstances. You are the one who stands steady, who knows when to stay and when to leap, who dances with grace on the edge of the unknown. And when the time comes to jump, you will know. Your body will know. Your heart will know. And like Hanuman, you will discover that the very act of leaping in faith creates the ground beneath your feet.
