Listeners weigh in on our discussion about thin places, those locales where the mundane and mystical appear to merge. This is part of a complete episode.
Transcript of “More Thin Places”
You’re listening to A Way with Words, the show about language and how we use it. I’m Grant Barrett.
And I’m Martha Barnette. You remember our conversation about thin places, those spots in the world where the walls of reality seem to just sort of grow thin, and you can almost feel another dimension on the other side of it?
That prompted a whole lot of responses from our listeners.
On our Facebook group, Roger Perrault wrote, “I never heard the term thin places before the segment this week. I live in Ireland, and I was actually walking my dog in one of my thin places along the canal in our town when I heard you use the term. At my turnaround point, there’s an old abandoned cottage overgrown with greenery. It’s that kind of mystical spot where I can almost feel the presence of the last people to walk out the door and leave it empty. I wonder about the whys and hows and where they went. On certain hazy, misty mornings, I almost feel like looking over my shoulder to see who is there.”
And on our Facebook group, he posted this beautiful photo of that very canal with an old stone bridge and all this greenery and trees. And he said, “There’s a 120-year-old photo of the same area taken from the same angle. A man and boy are fishing. And I can feel at times like somehow they’re still there. This place is so thin, in fact, that one particularly foggy morning, I could hear the church bells, and my imagination nearly convinced me that when the fog cleared and the church bells stopped, it would be 200 years ago. Thanks so much for identifying that strange feeling.”
Wow. Isn’t that cool? That exactly exemplifies the term thin places.
Yes, yes.
And we got an email from Johanna Polsenberg, who lives in Standard, Vermont, and she wrote, “In 2014, I was in Glasgow, Scotland for a conference and stole away for about 36 hours to drive up to the Isle of Skye. I didn’t really know what to expect, and I’d mapped out a long day hike, but the rain was blowing sideways and it was in the mid-40s, even though it was August. I started to drive around the island and the weather started to clear, and I actually found myself at the start of where I had intended to hike. I decided I’d do an abbreviated hike, so just set off for a bit of a walk.”
Within minutes, I felt totally transported, or more so, expanded, as if time dropped away.
I’m not easily influenced by the mystical. I have a PhD in biological sciences.
But I felt spiritually and physically moved.
It felt like I was connected to something primordial.
I felt a tug of belonging with absolutely no reason whatsoever for that.
I’m not Scottish. Scotland has never been a place for me.
It just moved me.
And she said, I wasn’t looking to be moved.
I’d expected it to be beautiful and all.
As I walked further along the trail with the lichen-covered rocks and dusty green bracken ground and steel-colored ocean, it just felt so light or perhaps thin.
Isn’t that beautiful?
That is beautiful.
I love the responses we’re getting about this.
I did.
It’s really brought out the great writers among our listeners, right?
Exactly.
People can put pen to paper with some success.
It’s nice.
They must enjoy shows about words, right?
They must have a way with pens, type biters, keyboards.
We still welcome your thoughts on the thin places of the world or the thin places in your reading and the things you come across where something happens for you, where you’re transported to another time and dimension, and maybe it’s something the author didn’t intend.
That counts, too.
Email words@waywordradio.org.
Or talk to us on Twitter @wayword.
