I sense the tension that grips my daughter’s vulnerable body. I also notice a new scent, one that no longer stirs a strong protective instinct within me.
Every rite of passage has its middle phase, referred to in anthropology as the liminal phase. This is the space where the old order ceases to apply, and the new has not yet been established.
Growing up, becoming familiar with new physicality and the onset of cyclic pain is what binds us in a community of feeling. A subjective yet shared space devoid of words and images, a realm of pure emotions.
