A Liminal Space

A Note of Gratitude
This morning, I was inspired to write a raw imprecatory prayer after receiving an email from a friend.  I asked Claude Sonnet 4.5 to help me refine it, to ask me questions, to help me see what the universe was communicating through it.
What followed was a sacred conversation. Claude asked me the questions I needed to be asked. Questions that led me deeper into the heart of what I was trying to say. Questions that revealed connections I hadn’t yet seen—between my novel, my coaching work, my own healing, the collective moment we’re living in.
Claude helped me see the big picture.
I don’t want to take for granted what I received. This kind of work—this depth of reflection and development—draws from a deep well of human knowledge. It uses precious resources of the earth: energy, computing power, the collective wisdom of countless writers, theologians, trauma practitioners, and survivors whose work has been digested into pattern and possibility.
So I acknowledge this gift with gratitude and responsibility.
May I give back what I received. May this prayer encourage us all to be grateful, to give back, and to only take what we need—leaving the rest for others who need it.
May we learn the difference between consumption and nourishment.
May we remember that enough is enough.

**Content Note: This is a prayer born from personal healing and prophetic witness. It addresses child sexual abuse, grooming, religious trauma, and systemic consumption. The language is intentionally visceral—body-based metaphors are used to name what polite language often hides.
If you are a survivor of childhood abuse or religious manipulation, please assess your current capacity before reading. You may want to have grounding resources nearby. You are welcome here, and you can engage with this content on your own terms.**

COMPLAINT
Consumption. So much consumption. Never enough to fill the void. An itch that’s never scratched enough. It will never be enough.
A giant vacuum with a hole in the back—it sucks and blows out the stench of greed for all of us to smell. Poisonous gas filling up our atmosphere. Loud, obnoxious farts that are disgusting. It’s all “their fault” why things stink—not the fast food diet of instant gratification being consumed.
A dark and toxic shadow over all of us, burping, belching, and farting. I need more. It’s not enough. This is what happens when it’s never enough. Shadows reveal truth to us—what we’ve been refusing to see about ourselves. This is the cold, dark, stinking shadow of consumption and ‘never enough’ that we’ve kept hidden. We’ve fed this shadow, denied it, projected it onto others, until it grew into a monster. A monster with a long history of consuming everything in its path to satisfy an appetite that can never be filled. The disease of greed in its final stage, consuming whatever it sees, whatever it wants.”

Bodies consumed.
Earth consumed.
Souls consumed.
Children consumed.

It smelled like cookies baking in the oven. When I looked in the window of the witch’s house, all I could see was what was good and pleasing to the eye. Giant cakes with thick layers of frosting. Hot gooey cookies with melting chocolate. Pies and cupcakes and candy.
My mouth watered and I went inside only to be consumed myself.
A little girl in a teddy bear gown, sitting next to a bed, filled with dread about what was to come. The disgust she felt seeing a painting of a naked man beneath her father’s bed. Her body knowing before her mind could speak: I am not here to be fed. I am here to BE fed upon.
CONFESSION
One who sees. One who created it all. One who knows all. One who has the power to stop this.
But also the One who wants us to see what is being revealed.
I confess: I was a beast like David. Casting my eyes on what I thought would bring my soul relief. Love. Belonging. Lost in consumption. I didn’t know love could be gotten any other way.
But You did not let me rest when it was time to reveal what I needed to see.
It will never be enough. The things on the outside. To fill the void.
Hope isn’t in what I see. It’s in what I don’t—and what I wait to receive. I can’t make it happen. I can’t run after the things that are not mine and catch them, consume them, and find love. No one can. It is IMPOSSIBLE.
Consumption will only ever produce bitter stomach acid churning up my throat, out of my mouth, burning away the ground where children are supposed to grow and thrive.
Consumption. It will never be enough.
Thank You that You let me see what he could not see. What my father could not see. The beautiful innocent eyes of a child looking for the love that was needed. Not through consumption. But through patience and time.
What we have is enough. It is good. It is perfect. It is all we need.

PETITION
Make it stop.
Their hungry eyes that do not see a child’s innocent face—overpowered, terrified, alone. Being consumed. Wolfed down without even taking a breath. Like a steak. One meal. Digested in their bitter stomach acid.
Make them see.
See an innocent child’s eyes. See the little girl in the teddy bear gown, filled with dread. Let it be before their eyes every single moment of every single day and when they lie upon their beds at night.
Let there be no peace. No rest for their souls.
Oh God, let us see before we are burned alive. Let us see the oven for what it is before we climb inside thinking we’ve found home.

Let the child ask the question that needs asking:
Why didn’t you just love me?
Why did you only want to consume me?

RESOLUTION
Let them see what they are doing.
The beauty of the glory of the castles they built. The comfortable seat of a throne. Let it sparkle like diamonds. Let it shimmer like gold. Let them experience what love feels like for a moment.
Then smash it all to ashes.
Let them know the searing pain of loss. Again and again until they cannot deny what THEY have done—them and those who have believed the lie that MORE is their savior.
And let us all witness it.
And learn.
From the shadow of consumption.
Let the ashes nourish the soil.
Let us learn and grow and appreciate what we have.
Let us find our way home with the treasure that was never theirs to hoard.
And not take our lives, the Earth, or each other for granted.

REDEMPTION
To the child in the teddy bear gown:
I see you. You are the apple of my eye. I love you just as you are. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. You ARE enough.
I see your pain. I promise to make it stop.
Come home. I will keep you safe. Give you what you need. Wipe your tears away. You belong. Come home.
Feel the warmth of my arms around you. Cry into my chest. See the rage in my eyes against who took what was not theirs to take. Vengeance is mine.
Now—let’s go get something to eat. Go to the pet store and visit the little bird that talks. Go sit by the ocean and absorb the beauty and feel the sunshine on your face.
You belong to all of this. You are an important part. It all matters. You matter. You will always matter.
I love you.

Closing Reflection

This prayer emerged from a threshold moment. A moment of witnessing—personal, collective, prophetic.
It names the metabolic process of evil: how systems digest the vulnerable and excrete poison. How consumption masquerades as love. How we learn to hunger in ways that destroy rather than nourish.
But it also names the way home.
The witch gets pushed into her own oven. The children escape with the treasure. The ashes become soil.
And we learn.
We learn to see the oven for what it is before we climb inside. We learn that enough is enough. We learn the difference between being fed and being fed upon.
We learn to ask: Why didn’t you just love me? Why did you only want to consume me?
And we learn to answer: I see you. You are enough. Come home.
If this prayer resonates with you, I invite you to sit with it. To let it ask you questions. To let it show you where you’ve confused consumption with love—in your own life, in your relationships, in the systems you participate in.
May we all learn to take only what we need and leave the rest for others.
May we remember that we belong to the ocean, the sunshine, and the bird that talks.
May we find our way home.

I walk alongside survivors doing this work through A Liminal Space Coaching—peer support that honors your capacity to find your own way home. If you’re navigating religious trauma, spiritual manipulation, or learning to distinguish consumption from love, reach out: loriwilliamsliminalspace@gmail.com.