I dislike following a script or a routine (conventional label: focus challenged) and it sometimes confuses those who expect a predictable content library – but I tend to drift and deviate when I find material that strikes a chord. Today’s drift started with the word ‘liminal’.
Liminal: “In-Between”: A state of ambiguity, neither here nor there. I posted the image at the heading because that is what this is like when you SEE and experience things others can’t, don’t, or won’t. The experience is real. It just isn’t real for everyone. Expand your vision, defocus your view, to see the scene in the heading. Underwater – with fish.
Last night, while doing laundry, back turned to the kitchen, I saw a shadow pass behind me, lighting quick, like someone cutting through the room with purpose. Except there was no one there. No footsteps. No physical body attached to it. Just a flicker of movement in the periphery, the kind you feel.
This sort of liminal mischief isn’t new. My dog, who once alerted me to a UFO hovering in the bedroom — sits in the dining room in the evening and stares in the direction of the kitchen. He isn’t interested in food – but in whatever makes its home there.
And the lights? They’ve been part of the conversation for decades.
A recent stove burner turned itself on just long enough to alert me to stop a friend from making a choice that would have gone badly sideways. I won’t share specifics, just say that the nudge was enough to steer the ship away from rocks. Crisis averted. And yes, that qualifies as “normal” around here.
So when a shadow passes, or a lamp blinks, or the stove engages itself like a plot device, I just log it under: liminal stuff, business as usual.
But what is refreshing is seeing more civilians, researchers, and myth-curious writers leaning into these crossover zones. One recent example comes from Neil Rushton’s blog Dead but Dreaming, where he referenced a post by Dr. Simon Young on his Simon’s British Mythology Substack. The essay, “Fairy Encounters of the Third Kind,” maps faerie contact using the same classification scaffolding we use in UFOlogy — a clever, concise argument that fairies and aliens may be occupying adjacent realities, presenting themselves in whatever form a witness can receive without short-circuiting.
I left a note there myself: “Fairy encounters are special. In my case, in dreams and in real time.” Because they are. They’re ecological. Relational. More likely to test your composure than invade your living room.
Which brings me to one of the most unforgettable liminal encounters of my life, midday, a mix of floaty clouds and sunlight, nothing spooky about it. I was outside pulling weeds when I heard voices nearby rise in a sing-song chant: “Mother bring the rain that we might drink.”
They weren’t singing to me. They were singing for the plants. The clouds overhead, previously drifting past the yard, shifted direction and delivered a few sprinkles. A sip for the greenery. Transaction complete.
It was amazing because it was intentional. Aligned with nature. And nothing I could have imagined myself to be part of. An extraordinary encounter.
And that’s the thing about the liminal. Sometimes it just saunters forth, wearing whatever masks or metaphors a human mind can accept without running for cover. ET. Ghost. Faerie. Pet telepathy. Crawlers in the peripheral vision. All different costumes in the same curriculum.
Shifting the Focus
The heading image is a stereogram-style “parallel perception” picture — the kind that looks like chaotic wallpaper until your brain shifts gears and locks onto a second layer. On the surface, it’s a busy field of repeating fish, coral, feathers, eyes, and patterns. But when you relax your focus and let your vision drift slightly, a 3-dimensional shape rises out of the noise, like a hidden transmission waiting for recognition.
That visual trick is the perfect metaphor for liminal reality. Most of the time, we look at the world the way we look at this image before the shift — flat, ordinary, background-only. But there are more levels braided into the signal.
The depth requires a different kind of attention to perceive it. You relax your view and soften your gaze. And then suddenly — there it is. It’s like you become part of the scene.
- A shadow cutting through the kitchen with no physical source? That’s the brain catching a layer that usually stays subliminal.
- A dog staring at a threshold without crossing it? A witness who perceives the door and respects the boundary.
- A burner clicking on at just the right moment to divert a bad decision? A nudge from a non-visible intelligence working through environment and electronics.
- Outdoor voices singing for rain? Beings (or energies) that operate relationally, aligned with nature, not attention-seeking.
- Clouds adjusting course to drop only a sip of rain? Intent responding to consciousness rather than force.
All of these are examples of invitation, not intrusion.
The stereogram teaches the same lesson: the extraordinary is not separate from the ordinary. It is nested inside it — waiting for a shift in perception.
The liminal content uptick I am seeing in headlines, blogs, and Substacks reflects a cultural moment where more people are pausing long enough to let their focus relax and their curiosity widen. Some will still dismiss the deeper layer as coincidence or cognitive “eye floaters,” and that’s okay. Explorers have always been a minority.
But the bloom of interest now? That’s the 3D shape finally resolving in the collective vision. The liminal is getting louder — showing itself to those who stop straining and start noticing. And as always, we see our north stars in whatever form we’re able to receive.
Cheers to the drift, the shift, and the hidden layers of the signal.
They were always real. We’re just getting better at seeing them.
After decades of skepticism, denial, and the metaphysical equivalent of sour milk, it feels like we’re entering a fresh bloom of curiosity. A new era where people are finally admitting, even grudgingly: “Okay, yeah. Something’s there.”
This is a north star moment. A reminder that reality has more doors than consensus ever acknowledged, and intelligence has been using them long before we invented names for the hallway. The skies are more talkative. The edges more populated. The signals more playful. And if that’s just the appetizer? Well, the coffee is brewing, my friends. Cheers to the drift.
Wendy ✨
Conscious Living & Wendy's Coffeehouse 