So there’s this thing that tends to happen when your brain is all scrambled, which is that the part of you that is excessively sensible forgets to weigh in.
It’s awesome.
Because then you get all the stuff you would normally never say. Much of it surprising. And some of it actually astonishingly true.
You challenge your brain. You cross the midline. You jumble things up.
And then you ask questions to see what you know.
The question I asked last week was a new one. Well, at least I thought it was a new one.
“Where is the bridge?”
Where is the bridge?
Context.
So we were at the Destuckification Retreat and we were doing some Shiva Nata, which is super-smart brain-zapping craziness of the most absurdly wonderful kind.
I can’t remember which day this was. If our practice was silly or deep or completely transcendent.
Or some combination of all of those.
Either way, we were seriously scrambled.
Everyone grabbed a notebook and I started asking questions.
And then we got to the bridge.
Where is the bridge? The first realization.
This is what my challenged-out twisted-around mixed-up brain wrote in response:
“I’m right underneath it.”
Huh?
“I’m right underneath it.
Which is making it hard to see. That’s why I can’t see the bridge. Because my boat is right under it.
I’m passing through this transitional thing so the bridge isn’t where I was looking for it.
And because of the nature of transition, I can’t see that I’m in transition.
But now I know where it is, so I can orient myself to this change. Everything is better when you know where the bridge is.
So. I’m not waiting for it. It’s here.”
Pause.
The silent sounds of synapses connecting.
Snap. Zap. Bing. Zoooooooooooooom.
Got it.
Where is the bridge? The second realization.
Almost as if my pen knew what it needed to say before my brain did.
Everything I wrote was unexpected.
“Oh.
Oh.
The bridge is not only the thing my pirate ship is directly under. It’s also at the front of the boat.
It’s where I should be. On the bridge. Because I am the pirate queen.
But I have been neglecting my navigation because of distractions. Because of pain. Because of survival stuff.
I need to be both more in charge and also more hands-off at the same time.
Which I could do if I were spending more time on the bridge. Of the ship.
Captain! You’re WANTED ON THE BRIDGE!
Like that.
What would the pirate queen do? Be beautiful. Be both visible and invisible. Be on the bridge.”
Where is the bridge? The third realization.
San Francisco.
It was Shiva Nata and some dreams and some stars that took me from Berlin to San Francisco four years ago. And that’s how I met my gentleman friend. Kind of.
Anyway, the first thing that happened right after that? The Golden Gate Bridge told me how sad it was.
Yeah. That was sort of bizarre. Anyway.
So I launched a project to help the bridge. And between my fear monsters and some people in my life who tend to know exactly what to say to encourage those monsters, the project died.
It died the sad little death of all projects that aren’t fortunate enough to have someone to believe in them.
I spent Christmas Day on the bridge. And then that was it.
But what my synaptically-super-connected brain was telling me was that the project was not gone. Not forgotten. It had just morphed into a brand new thing. A new incarnation.
That what I was doing now was helping people find bridges. Make connections. And not just in the brain but everywhere.
Where is the bridge? The fourth realization.
Right before San Francisco, a bunch of real-life things conspired to make going there actually possible.
And one of them was someone from there who came to one of my very first workshops and asked me about the bridge.
He was talking about a linguistic bridge. A metaphorical bridge. A conversational bridge.
But of course he wasn’t. And my brain finally figured it out.
Last week. On paper. As a buzzing whirring mass of tiny Shivanautical epiphanies began whizzing by almost too fast to catch.
The bridge in question was the question.
In other words, asking where the bridge is turns out to be the thing that helps you find the bridge.
Bridges reveal themselves when you ask them where they are.
And why ask?
- it is useful to know what you are currently between.
- it is useful to know what your options are for making connections between here and there.
- just like how (very often, at least) there is no shoe, sometimes there also doesn’t need to be a bridge — but it’s hard to realize that without asking.
- once you know where it is, you can reposition yourself in relation to it.
You can change your orientation.
Back to the bridge.
The bridge is where I find the midpoint.
The bridge is where I say this is what I’m feeling and I give myself permission to feel it.
The bridge is the part of my ship where I belong.
Where I know what is mine and what is not mine. Where I can make the big navigational decisions and also the really tiny ones.
And all of that is a fragment of what my brain told my fingers to tell my pen to spill into my notebook after fifteen minutes of Shiva Nata and one question.
Comment zen for today.
Would you like to play? Yay. Play with me!
You are more than welcome. You don’t even have to be a Shivanaut. You don’t have to do or be anything.
Except ask where is the bridge and then write down what comes to you.
You can also not play. Or play and not share. Or comment about something else entirely. I don’t mind. My duck and I like you just as much either way.
The only big thing is that this is a safe space to play, which means we don’t throw shoes, and we don’t give advice. I’m going back to the bridge to have a tea.
Follow
Where is the bridge? I am standing at it, but I’m not aware that I’m in it. Instead, I look back into the past and far into the future in my attempt to find the bridge. No matter what I do, no matter what I try I cant find the bridge.
Until I stop looking looking far that I realize it was underneath my feet. It has been right there all along but I pay no attention to it. 🙂
Where is the bridge? I’m on it. Only it’s the kind of bridge that’s some ropes and planks waving across a chasm. And it looked all sunny and clear and easy, but whooee, when I actually stepped onto the bridge it got all wavy and difficult and stuff, and now I’m crawling, because it’s easier not to look down this way, ironically, and it’s easier to believe I won’t fall, and I can just keep shuffling forward. It’s taking a lot longer than I expected, and I’m terrified and a little nauseous, but where is there to go but forward or back, and I don’t want to go back. So I go forward.
.-= Julie´s last post … Getting things done without falling apart =-.
Oh, I love this!
As I was reading, my conscious mind was getting all excited about bridges in the musical sense. In a song, the bridge is often brief but very significant. Musically, it’s often very different from the verses and chorus — something fresh and new for the ear. Lyrically, it often goes straight to the heart of the matter, plunging right into the emotional content that the verses and chorus were dancing around.
So, yay, good thoughts. Good conscious mind. You get a cookie.
However, when I asked my unconscious mind, “Where is the bridge?” I got a very different answer.
Where is the bridge? It’s over the troubled water. It’s across the gorge.
If I want to find the bridge, maybe I need to move a little closer to the scary stuff. To approach, instead of avoid.
I’m not sure how this fits in with the idea that we don’t have to leap, as you said in an earlier post, which I also firmly believe. Except — hang on — if there’s already a bridge there, then of course I don’t have to leap!
Wow. This is great stuff!
.-= Kathleen Avins´s last post … In which I am a secret agent of change =-.
Where is the bridge? What takes me from where I am to where I’m going?
For me, my soul is always the bridge. Sovereignty lets me walk across it steadily. My soul’s friends accompany me and help me feel safe and supported in the journey.
They also remind me that there’s ground under my feet. And railings to hold onto.
That kind of bridge, the one that links realities.
My soul is also the (bridge) helm of my ship. When I’m present there, my inner guidance system knows where I need to go, and when, and with whom…I can see clearly around me, so I can change course when necessary, adjust my sails to meet the prevailing winds, drop anchor in a sheltered bay when it’s time to rest.
Lovely metaphor, Havi. May your bridge be ever-present for you, and your command of it be effortless.
Love, Hiro
.-= Hiro Boga´s last post … Sunday Poem: Buddhist Chronicles 9 =-.
The Third Realization…made me cry. Right here, all by myself, before I’ve even finished my first cup of coffee. Crying for projects that die because no one believed in them.
I could suddenly hear the wailing of something in the far distance, even though it’s inside me. It has a sad, like the one making me cry…because maybe it’s dying because I (all caps) don’t believe in it.
I must play this game and find out!
Sometimes, Havi, your words are my epiphany invoking Shivanaut. Thank you.
.-= Wulfie´s last post … Eff Purpose and the Horse it Rode in on =-.
I’m building it. I can see to the other side of the valley and I’ve got my little hammer and nails and old pieces of wood but what I haven’t seen yet is that right behind me is a huge bridge building machine (and all the lumber and steel I need) that can build me an amazing and strong and well lighted bridge. I just have to put down my rustic tools and turn around and turn the key on the contraption. And presto my bridge will be built and I can safely and easily decide how much time to spend on each side of the bridge (or just hang out on the bridge keeping an eye on the goings on on my lands.)
Ok, so I had no idea that was in my brain.
Where is the bridge?
The bridge is out there, in the distance. I can see it already.I am somewhere close to the shore. Sometimes on the shore and sometimes in the water. I am moving towards the bridge, but when I start drifting too closely, I find myself paddling against the water and clinging to the shore.
I think I am doing this because I am afraid to pass under the bridge. I am not sure why I am afraid. I am used to staying close to the shore and clinging to it.
Also, I am afraid of going under it because somehow I feel that it would not be safe. Like there is a dark shadow or something.
But maybe I can climb onto the shore for a moment, walk over to the shore towards the bridge and have a look?
Havi, I loved this, and the way you painted the picture of your bridges with words. What a great way to start off my day.
Huh – my response to this was immediately:
Where is the bridge?
The bridge is so far behind me I don’t even remember what it looks like.
I don’t even know if that is a good or a bad or helpful or unhelpful thing to me right now.
Funnily enough, until just a few months ago I was actually *building* bridges – five of them in total. Now that’s gone. Behind me, if you will.
And often, these days – I’m feeling a little lost. Looking for the vessel which will transport me from here to there and having to realise that I am the vessel, no waiting required.
So perhaps… I am the bridge? Hmmm. Weird.
.-= Wormy´s last post … The Petticoat – at last! =-.
Where is the bridge? I’m on the bridge right this second. But I didn’t realize it. I’m in the middle of this huuuge transition and have been for a while. But for me it’s just…. life. I am not planning because I don’t know where I’m going. I am just reacting day by day doing what needs to be done. Actually I’m procrastinating a ton and feeling even more stuck.
But it’s a bridge which means there has to be an end. Eventually I’ll reach the other side. Right?
The bridge is right there above me, I can see it filling the bright blue sky. I am on a boat that is anchored at the river’s edge, and the weathered dock and sturdy stairs are visible from my deck, waiting for me to step out. The bridge goes wherever I want it to, I just need to decide. Scary, and exhilarating. 🙂
.-= Andi´s last post … Opening Recap =-.
I am the bridge. I am what connects my past and my future.
Oh, that was a good question for me this morning.
I’m on a bridge. It’s nice and solid, very charming really, but it’s an excessively long bridge as bridges go. Trouble is, even though I’m getting to the end, I’ve been on this bridge for so long that I’m no longer sure whether the other side is where I want to be. It looks nothing like it did when I got on, and recent changes have not made it look at all like a good place for me to be.
So perhaps I should turn around. Then again, I don’t want to go back to where I was, because it hasn’t improved since I left either. So maybe I should just continue to the end of the bridge and see if there’s a different route, maybe a slightly hidden one off to the side that will lead to something better than what I can see now. Or maybe I should hop off the bridge (challenge being that I’m terrified of heights and jumping from them).
I’m lucky that I have time to figure this out– I’m not at the very end yet. Now if I can just get the balance between continuing to walk now and figuring out what I’m going to do later…
Beautiful. I think something auspicious is happening and reading this experience lets me almost sense my own epiphany. Not quite though.
Where is the bridge?
At the intersection of me and you.
No idea where that came from. Or who me and you are. Not sure if I’m “me” or “you” or who is speaking.
So I asked again. Where is the bridge?
The bridge is hopefully happening now. A bridge connects and that connection is about to happen.
Also, the bridge is in the water. Not under water, just in the water. Interesting.
I feel scrambled and foggy, but in a good, curious way.
.-= Briana´s last post … Corporate flashbacks: More on the check-y-loos. =-.
Where is the bridge? It’s over THERE (accompanied by much pointing and gesturing). It’s built. It’s very sturdy looking and solid. Oak, I think. It’s even attractive. I’m just not by it. Why? Because I’m busy over here, messing around with a stick, using it to draw squiggles in the mud, and every once in a while laying it down across a little trickle of water like Christopher Robin playing at having a bridge.
And I don’t want to stop. I don’t know why. It’s not especially fun.
So I just told my Christopher Robin self that it’s ok to keep the stick, and that when the mood strikes me, I can wander over to the *real* bridge, and take my stick with me. He’s pretending like he knew the bridge was there all along. (He didn’t).
Chris doesn’t seem too keen on the idea just yet, but I suspect he’ll wander over there when he thinks I’m not looking, like it was his idea all along.
.-= Tori Deaux´s last post … Top 5 Things I’ve Learned From Brain Blogging =-.
The bridge is on my map.
The bridge is in my memory.
The bridge is made of stones.
It crosses a fast-moving river.
The bridge is old.
I’ve visited the bridge many times.
Sometimes I forget about it.
I want to go back.
When I’m there I remember times I’ve been there.
The bridge itself is a destination.
I go back and forth across it.
I walk up and down the riverbanks.
I sit nearby, on the riverbank.
And I sit on the bridge, on a bench.
I could live closer to it.
I could go there more often.
Some people go there for special outings,
but some people stay.
I could be one of them.
Where is the bridge? Like spiralsongkat, I took it in a musical sense: It’s after the second 8. AABA.
It takes us from the familiar (verses, chorus) to a new place then brings us back home….ahhhh!
I have collected little bridge models for my mom to remember our travels together: Florence, Paris, Venice. Sadly, she will forget them soon if she hasn’t already.
I also thought of burning bridges, hoping I haven’t burned any.
I am standing at the center of a little bridge, resting; I look down at the water passing under, watching my reflection stay in one place even as the water changes every moment.
.-= chicsinger simone´s last post … fleur-de-lis bonbon brooch =-.
the bridge is 30 miles over that away? on the other side of the island i’m on…. I have long hike to get there. But I know how to hike and I have the proper gear, I’m just dreading it somewhow. ugh.
.-= carrie´s last post … well yippee =-.
“1. it is useful to know what you are currently between”
Havi, you’re lovely. Truly. Something about this just clicked for me today. Between all the stress and the work crazy and the being able to see the bridge but not quite get across it yet, we forget where we came from. I especially have a tendency to not acknowledge the progress from where I was, and instead focus on the fact that I’m not over the big bridge yet.
Sometimes getting over that small shaky one that you’re not sure will hold is the best accomplishment of all.
.-= Holly´s last post … Guest Post: If It Can’t Be Said In 140 Characters It Must Not Be That Important. =-.
The bridge is in my head.
Huh.
That’s what I got.
Oh.
The bridge is my way of reminding myself that I have everything I need to get from here to there. And that I can go there whenever I’m ready. Or come back for a while if I need to. Or just meander slowly across.
Ohhhhhhhhh.
.-= elizabeth´s last post … on wings of song =-.
When I asked myself “where is the bridge?” the very first phrase that popped into my head was “over peaceful waters.” (Only, in italics.)
I was so confused by this. Don’t bridges cross raging rivers or crocodile-infested waters? That’s what I expected to think about.
But no. My bridge is located over peaceful waters. On a sunny day with faint breezes and small puffy clouds.
My bridge is taking me the place where I need to be–and there are no crocodiles there.
.-= Michelle´s last post … Don’t Fight your Brain, or How to Create an Outline in Ten Minutes =-.
Here is what I wrote in my notebook when we did this exercise at the retreat – obviously, my answer is kinda related to the questions that came before that one, but still, here it is:
Where is the bridge? In writing. In mindfulness. In openness and curiosity. Yes, in openness and curiosity. That would help me not dismiss tiny or subtle clues, but follow them and see where that leads.
.-= Josiane´s last post … Taking action instead of resolving to do so =-.
My brain says, “there’s meant to be a bridge? What, where? No one told me there was a bridge. Um, can we google it?”
I have no bridge, my bridge is lost. Maybe it’s lost in the mist. Maybe I’m meant to build my own bridge? Maybe I need to find some nails and wood first. Should I google builder’s merchants?
So apparently my brain thinks the internet will be helpful for bridge location – perhaps a reflection of the fact that I’ve been getting a lot of wisdom & motivation from blogs and e-books lately?
.-= Kirsty Hall´s last post … Taking Stock =-.
Wow, this is such an interesting question! It surprised me that the first thought that came to me was that I was standing in the middle of the bridge. Okay, that’s not surprising. What’s surprising is the bridge itself: I’m standing in the middle of the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, flames licking the air all around me, parts of the bridge crumbling away and plunging into the depths of Moria below. (It’s the bridge in The Lord of the Rings, the one where Gandalf makes his “you shall not pass” speech.)
This kind of…um…unnerves me. Oh, who am I kidding? There’s no kind of about it. It really unnerves me!
When I looked down I saw I was standing in the middle of rickety bridge, with a long way to go, planks falling away, and people behind me shaking it. It was lonely, scary, and I seriously thought of turning back.
Then it suddenly became a set of sturdy stairs, and I realized I’m almost to the top!!! Holy inspiration Batman! I am so excited! Thanks Havi 😀
.-= Sunshyndreamer´s last post … Riding a motorbike taxi in Tanzania =-.
Where is the bridge?
It is below me. It is my house. It is crossing the river Thames. It is poetry. Apparently it is entirely metaphorical. There is no bridge. The moment I am in leads to nowhere because I am in the liminal period. I am between. Between. Transitioning. But bridges help you move from one side of something to another. And so I do. I am walking across the bridge. What foreign land I will find on the other side, I do not know. Will it be civilized like my favorite city with parks and cafes and bookstores all ready for me to explore? Or will it be wild and exotic wilderness? I think it is way too early to tell. And that is the story of the bridge. I cannot know until I cross. But the crossing is a journey in and of itself. I cannot rush this part. I am Liminal. I am Between. I walk.
The bridge is under me, stretching out behind me and before me into the mist, and I can’t see the ends of it… so I chose a direction and keep walking, waiting for the mist to burn off or a landmark to come rise up out of it and tell me if I’m going the right way.
This made me think of Amsterdam, straight away. I love Amsterdam. I love the little bridges that are everywhere. And then I realised, I can only cross one bridge at a time, and recently I’ve been trying to cross, uhm, maybe three or four at the same time. It can’t be done. If I try to do that, I don’t get to cross any of them, and just to get to look at them all and wonder about what is one the other side. Sometimes you have to choose, or I have to choose, and that’s scary. Eugh, I have to *whisper it* make a commitment. Bah! But then…it looks pretty inviting over the other side.
.-= Jane´s last post … Loose and Periodic Cross The Road. =-.
I stared at a deep and wide sea. Looking across the water I saw no bridge. But when I turned and looked up the shoreline I saw, in the distance, a place where the two closest points of land would meet. And there was the bridge. It might take a hike to get there, but staring out at the sea was hopeless. Only looking at the shore that I stood on did I see the footprints leading the way in the sand. It’s a distant bridge, but it’s there.
At the retreat I wrote:
in nature, in the mountains, at home, in love, in stability, in safety, in movement, in transition, in resting.
Today… almost a week from our time, I can’t see the bridge. Feeling a little forlorn. Being kind to that, talking to that… maybe that’s the bridge right now.
xo
.-= Michelle Marlahan´s last post … Queen of Fairy Land =-.
Where is the Bridge?
The bridge is many bridges, spanning out all around me. Some are well-worn, sturdy, and often traveled. Some are half-built and long abandoned, or currently under construction. Some were once complete but have since fallen into such disrepair that the connection they once made is lost. The bridges go out into the mists, person to person, me to you, past to future, project inception to project completion, and I choose which to walk and which to build and which to abandon, but they always lead me back to my center.
I get lost when the mists close in and I forget that, but then things clear up and I remember my bridges and go back to where the ground is solid and familiar. I find my center before striking out again.
.-= Amy Crook´s last post … Guest Post: Using Visuals on My Blog =-.
Where is the bridge?
What is the bridge?
What is my bridge?
My bridge is the help & support from others that supports me in the moment. My guidance and protection as I explore my tunnels of yuck.
Where is my bridge? Inside me, and when I can’t find that one, at the end of a tweet, email, call or even a hug.
But the best bridges are the ones I didn’t look for, the ones that found me when I needed them most.
.-= James | Dancing Geek´s last post … The P-word =-.
Where is the bridge?
As it turns out, most places I’ve lived has had a bridge or two.
East Bay – Golden Gate and Bay Bridges.
Portland – is full of them.
Sacramento – Tower Bridge.
Maybe that’s why I have been drawn to these places.
.-= Tami´s last post … Yoga+Music365 (day34) – Human Like a House by The Finches – My First Class Edition =-.
Where is the bridge?
I am the bridge. When I stay centered and grounded, I can tap into a deep inner knowing that allows me to cross into new territories and helps me steer my own ship.
Wow…such a great question and so many beautiful answers here.
.-= Victoria Brouhard´s last post … This Might Sound Crazy But… =-.
Where is the bridge?
It is behind me, I have already passed it, and now I’m on the opposite shore without even realising it.
What a wonderful question.
What beautiful and insightful bridges we all have.
Even people who don’t know where their bridge is (I bet they know where their towel is :)) or what it looks like, have shared some lovely thoughts.
To @victoria – of course you are your bridge – LOVE.
To @tami – I’ve noticed the same thing in my life. Particularly that the bridges near me cross rivers or oceans that calm and soothe me.
.-= Casey´s last post … Where is the bridge? =-.
Wow laine, thank you! Your comment/answer set off electric epiphanies in my head. Especially needed this week.
I did this out loud instead of on paper, because writing isn’t something I can always do. (I am disabled).
Where is the bridge? Far away. Up some stairs. I can’t get to it.
I want to get to it and get to the center because I want to jump off. Take a leap of faith. Get me thing moving, get things done.
But I can’t get to it. I’m too sick. It’s too far away and there are stairs. So I can’t get to it.
… because I haven’t been taking care of myself.
Ping! I’ve been doing more than my body can physically handle recently and that means all my reserves are depleted. I need to look after myself, otherwise I won’t recover enough to get to the bridge and jump off.
Well, looks like it’s a few weeks of very careful self-care coming my way 🙂
Where is the bridge?
I’m ON the bridge. I’m not moving, I’m just standing here, all awkward.
I started walking across it recently, and then I stopped, because:
1) The scenery is so pretty
2) I’m kind of afraid of heights, and it’s high up
3) I don’t know what’s on the other side exactly
4) I have a fear of walking-across-the-bridge the wrong way
Wow.
Where is the bridge?
In the city of bridges. Where I already live. Wow.
Bridges from doing what other people think is important to doing what I think is important. Building my life around my life unapologetically. Well, apologetically, but doing it anyway.
And getting to keep everyone I love. Not losing a single one of them, keeping them safe too. Nothing falls off of this bridge. (I fear edges)
In fact, it is cozy covered bridge, the kind that keeps you out of the rain and ends up in a passionate kiss with the man you love in all the world.
Thank you to Havi for this little stone cottage of a vision, worth de-lurking for. And to Hiro whom I haven’t thanked yet for her sovereignty call, which was exquisite.
E
I love Japanese gardens. Not rock gardens (though those are nice, too), but botanical: spread out, with lots of little streams running through them, and lots of paths wandering amid the tautly-trimmed shrubs and flowers, and stone lamps scattered about in aesthetically-correct places.
To get the paths to cross the streams, there are little stone bridges, barely humps in the path but beautiful in their simplicity. A large garden can have dozens as the paths and streams criss-cross.
I’m standing in the middle of the garden, just off the path where it divides up, next to one of the stone lamps. The bridges are all around me, going in various directions. Some of the paths meet up beyond the bridges and some don’t, and it’s hard to tell from here which is which because they get lost amid the greenery. I’m afraid that if I take the wrong path, I won’t be able to find my way back to the start to try again. But I’m just as afraid that there IS no wrong path, and that any bridge will be just as good as any other – because I’ll be downplaying the virtues of the path I’m on and playing up its weaknesses, because I’m close and can see them, while I play up the virtues of the other, unchosen paths, and wishing I’d chosen one of them.
Bridges are hard sometimes.
.-= Chris Anthony´s last post … Between Scylla and Charybdis =-.
The bridge is in the distance to the right. I don’t even have to move my head to see it. I just move my eyes and there is the big bridge. It’s old, elegant and sturdy. I’m not sure I want to go there. It’s there like a sunset pretty to see, but truly no desire to go there. hmmm. wonder what that means?
Though when I read what Casey wrote, “(I bet they know where their towel is :))”, then yes my towel is wrapped around me. My towel is protecting me.
hmmmm…
How lovely. Where is the bridge?
The bridge is everywhere. And it is nowhere. The bridge is a filament of meaning across the space of my becoming. It exists in my mind as a somewhat shaky structure of words, each fully formed . . each looking for its mate. And it exists outside my mind in the spaces between the spaces.
It stands silently watching, yet constantly calling out to me. “Step onto the bridge. Unless you challenge yourself, you will never be safe. Step onto the bridge, and know what it is to feel life coursing through you. Step onto the bridge, and know you are already on the other side.”
Where is the bridge? The bridge is and has always been with me, for I am the bridge.
.-= Gail McConnon´s last post … What Might Happen If You Stepped Away from NO? =-.
The bridge is that span within the music that transitions me from one verse to the next, from one theme to another. It supports, it conducts, it ahares that sure — the soundtrack of my life may be changing, but the bridge is there to ensure that the change works, that the change is smooth, that the soundtrack doesn’t jump around like Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. And perhaps the passage that I’m moving to isn’t the happy allegro that I enjoy, but the bridge is a reminder that just as it is there to ensure I am not plopped into an unfamiliar largo, so will it be there to conduct me back.
.-= Paul´s last post … Brought to you by the people wondering why you created that memo in Excel. =-.
There’s Here. And there’s There. And There is really wanted. Reeeeally wanted. So much that it wakes me up in the night sometimes, coursing through my limbs, my veins, making me jumpy with restless frustration.
There is an unhappiness with how I live in a very very small and careful box. I know there is a free open field way of being and living in there or out there somewhere, but something about getting There feels missing in the equation of me.
The bridge is how I could get to the open field.
Wanted: Get out of the house movement that gets my heart rate up. A walk-the-dogs-a-la-Cesar-Milan kind of movement.
The bridge has to do with this: “Run, Heidi, run! In some way run. Every day. Maybe not a literally running kind of run. But yes a literally get your heart-rate up, run. Run for at least 30 minutes. I don’t care where or how you do it, but run. Pump your heart, hard every day. Jump, dance, run, fast. Every day. That’s your pill. Take it! If you don’t, you’ll feel like crap. If you do, there’s a chance of getting There.”
Where is the bridge?
The bridge begins at my mind. Everything that pours out (and goes in, for that matter) my mind is in direct contact with the bridge. The bridge is forked, however. My mind is the handle and the infinite possibilities are the prongs – innumerable. I am both the source and receiver of this forked bridge. And yes, the fork is feasting.
I’m thinking about how Los Angeles is a land without bridges, how that feels right to me. I’m sure there’s one somewhere but I’ve never seen one in the whole city, except for highways crisscrossing over each other.
I think a lot about how I’m on the very edge of america, right on the ocean. I can feel myself there, I picture an elementary school map of america and pinpoint myself – that’s me, on the left side, I finally made it all the way.
Los Angeles is not the bridge, but the destination which of course is also the starting point.
.-= Laura´s last post … Being Useless, Switching to a New System, and Meet my Cat =-.
@Laura – Me too with thinking of myself on the edge of the CA map all the time. It’s like wow – I’m right there where the pink part of the map meets the blue part. Happens when I’m walking on the shore too. I jump in the water a bit and tell myself: Look at me…I’m off the map!
About my bridge:
Where is it?
It feels small…just like some 2×4’s that have been plopped down over a small little mud puddle right in front of me.
Like I were making a path to a tree house in my muddy backyard after a rain storm.
It’s just about getting to the next little patch of dry space so maybe I can move the board again and use it to create a bridge to the next space that I will stand on.
Very present moment type of bridge. No clue where it’s going right now. One foot in front of the other bridge.
I like the bridge. It’s sturdy. It’s manageable. It’s supports me. I have a good vantage point each time I’m standing on it – even though it’s flat. It helps that I’m tall. And that I stretch out my arms to the sky like I’m a starfish and soak up sunlight at each part of the bridge walking.
I trust it will be more obvious to me where we are taking this little bridge of moving 2×4’s and for now it’s just going to take me to making some fresh juice. Walk my scooby roommate and stand like a starfish in the sun to get some air and sun on my face.
My bridge is between sickness & health. And I notice that it’s only moving forward. It’s a very good bridge. A giving bridge. Like the Giving Tree. It chooses to give me anything I could need so that I can be supported and happy. And we love each other. When I’m tired, it lets me sit on it. When I’m bouncy it lets me bounce on it.
.-= Mona´s last post … Loving The Mess Ups =-.