Being a liminal figure means always living in the realms that shade into That Thing from This Thing. It’s being a living example of the fact that the world isn’t neatly divided into people in white hats and people in black hats. It’s all about shades of gray — and not necessarily the kind they’re talking about in that erotic novel, either. Liminality means belonging and being an outsider at the same time. It means to be both Self and Other, and also neither of those things. It’s every color in the rainbow, purest white, deepest black, no color at all.
Loki is often described as a liminal figure. He’s born of the etin-folk, but leaves His home and the people of His blood to follow Odin to Asgard. He’s one of the Aesir, yet He’s not always treated as same by the other gods. He is both the consort of Angrboda, the strange and powerful Hagia and Chieftain of Iron Wood, and the husband of gentle, domestic, faithful Sigyn. He is Odin’s blood-brother, friend, kinsman, and enemy. He is both “good” and “evil,” often both at once, depending on your point of view. He cannot be boxed in, pinned down, or written off easily. Loki’s liminality is that of the questioner, the little child who points out the emperor’s nakedness, and, conversely, the critic whose sharp observations allow everyone to see, and to repair, the system that has broken down. Like all trickster figures, Loki both stands outside and reinforces the order of things.