Stillness 7-21: Many years ago, when I was in Florence, I bought lovely gold hoop earrings in a jewelry shop on the Ponte Vecchio. I wore them most of the time for several decades, then one day when I was on the Isle of Skye in Scotland, rambling through the Fairy Glen, one of them disappeared. On my return home, I put the other one around the ankle of a ceramic angel that’s in my garden, hoping it would somehow bridge the ocean and keep connected with its partner in the Fairy Glen.
We try to bridge things all the time. Bridging old to new, bridging cultural boundaries and consciousness, bridging rifts.
Sometimes it feels as though our lives are a series of bridges. What beautiful things they are: Bridges. The bridge that took you from hither to thither, from this person to that one, from one era into another.
We live on bridges. Our houses don’t move—we do. And while we’re on the bridge, people move through our lives, sometimes stopping but usually moving on.
And, also, we are the bridge. Our existence on this planet is a bridge—a lovely bridge of existence from spirit to spirit. It’s filled with yummy smells, sparkling jewels in the shop windows, friendly voices, a friendly hug now and then, someone singing, someone helping or showing us the way, and always the river of life keeps flowing and flowing past.