That’s perhaps the real issue with liminal spaces. They’re not safe. Anything can happen there. Demons and angels dance, memories surface, words flow together into a torrent of poetry that one has only to capture to… And there it is again. It can’t be captured. My waking self has nothing in common with my liminal falling-asleep self. One of them may well be a better writer, but the other is a writer who actually gets things written.