Sometimes all you need is a Bridge

being in this seemingly constant
state of limbo
getting stuck in (the) between
what one really needs
is a bridge
from here to there
though as a migrant
it sometimes feels as if
i am building the bridge
as i am crossing it
– step-by-step
once in a while
daring to look down
into the abyss
and having to
move on still

*the city where i live, is one of many bridges… what about where you are? are there any bridges; and what is your experience of stepping onto and crossing over them? ~RSVP*


3 thoughts on “Sometimes all you need is a Bridge

  1. and sometimes what helps so much is a friendly, accepting face and heart, hand to hold, a trusted other with whom to say
    ´´I feel momentarily lost…do you have any clues, any ideas, any suggestions…oh! you feel that way too…´´

    and so we stumble into the fog together, feeling our way, edging forward, our toes first until we find that first tentavie step onto the solid bridge (that we build as we stuble), and then the next building block and the next step and the next until we reach the crest and can see clearly and step, now bold, courageous, energised over and into the new world that lies across the other side…

  2. I grew up in rural countryside, centuries old patchwork fields for crops and cows, rotating to preserve the balance between humans and nature.

    I remember feeling the excitement and joy as I walked across any of the many little, old bridges in the laneways and those, smaller again, across the small streams between fields of waving corn and oats or grazing cattle…I loved the sense of freedom that came with a bridge – now I could cross into a new territory, an unexplored space full of adventure, go from one known place to an unknown place or, after exploration, from one sweet experience to another, from the daisy fields to the buttercups along the edge of the stream or the gentle jersey bull guarding his community, from the sandy lane to the foot trodden path across the top of the high hill towards the woodlands and the lake, the place of swans, foxes, hares,pike, pheasant, partridge and deer…

    I remember the determination to find a way to build a bridge to cross, where there was not one, to where I wanted to go – to explore, to discover into the unknown.

    I remember, as a young girl,maybe 4 or 5 years old, being with my grandmother on our walks into nature – the Redgrave Road bridge, where, it was said, the ‘Pink Lady’ from the Hall, threw herself over to drown after a love affair collapsed…my grandmother, an earthy and particularly practical woman, who was known for her ability to talk with the spirits. I would stand, holding my breath and in silent awe, as she had a conversation with the spirit of ‘the Lady’ soothing her sadness…

    These days, my favourite bridge for the meditative physical practice of ‘crossing over, ‘ is the little walkway, partially covered in trickling water, a little slippery sometimes, between the small pond and the larger lake at the Boavista end of Parque de Cidade. I often stop in the middle and take in the different vistas east and west, as I walk the south/north path or sometimes the north/south route. My breath deepens and slows, my thoughts momentarily subside and I am still, even as I get ready to move again. This feels good – very good.

    Yesterday I stopped still, in the company of a dear friend, and then, later, a new step emerged unexpectedly and moved us even as we were building the bridge as we walked, into a new part of life that still emerges slowly from the mist and fog.

    Yesterday, my feet and spirit were wobbly. The company and spirit of my good friend brought steadiness to my being and good company to search for that first block to build, to take that first step even into the chill air and dense fog.

    It is good to remeber my many fun times and my buoyant spirit, well equipped, experienced infact, for finding and crossing, even building bridges.

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