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Crossing *that* Bridge

Dear Friends,

Just as I see the bridge to Spring coming in view, bringing along with it the joy of flowers, of early sweet fruit (like strawberries and peas), and the promise of new life, I notice out of the corner of my eye another bridge.  I look full-on and am bowled over by this bridge.  This is the bridge that takes us to the Summerland, to Heaven, to the Underworld, to the Other Side.  It takes me by surprise to see a familiar soul crossing that bridge.  Not one I know personally, but a face and a name many would know – a sweet face, a young face.   How he comes to be crossing this bridge at age 28 is still unknown.  I do know that he leaves behind a fiancee, a young daughter, family and friends, and many fans of his film and television work.  It seems that on the path to awakening life and new growth, the harsh cold of late winter may still take down the odd innocent and young.

Blessings to him on his new journey on the other side of the bridge.

On Sunny Days

On a sunny morning such as this, I feel that anything is possible. Only time and circumstance limits me. I feel that bridge calling to me: “Cross Me”, it says. The pull is so strong. What will the crossing be like? More importantly, what waits for me on the other side? I know I should be sensible and stay put, but still the call comes…

I’ve been trying to find ways lately, to cross little bridges of my own, to find bold moments of colour that fire the little spark inside me. You may know of what I speak: it’s like a little burn in the belly when something agrees with one’s soul. It’s like the soul saying “Yes, this is the correct path for you right now. This will help you grow.”

I must admit, when I feel that burn, but I am not able to accomplish as much as fast as I would like, frustration inevitably sets in. Right now, with two young boys almost ever present at my side, the limits can seem like a cage. My “Me” time comes in snatches, moments. Minutes of freedom are so precious. Ah, the stories I could write, the knitting I could do, the books I could read, the walks I could take, the gardening I could do… At a time in my children’s lives when it is usual to want to cherish and cling to, I am squirming and straining to answer the call of the Bridge. Am I torn? You bet. But still the call comes…

Crossing the Bridge

“A bridge is a structure built to span a gorge, valley, road, railroad track, river, body of water, or any other physical obstacle.” (Wikipedia)

I believe a bridge is much more than a physical “structure”. Symbolically, I see it as a crossroad, if you will, between one piece of land and the next. It has an “in between” feel, neither here nor there. Other places have this mystical in-between-ness, like doorways, like the shore, like twilight. It is said that this is often where a person may get a glimpse of the Fae – in that in between place, where there is a “thinning of the veils”, between our world or realm, and theirs.

A Crossroad, of course, means a direction must be chosen, a decision must be made. Will you go forward, or back? What will it mean once you leave one side and come to the other. Are you leaving someone behind? Someone you love?

The Greek Goddess Hecate is oft associated with the Crossroads, the Three-Way Crossroads (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hecate). It is rather fitting that we talk of Hecate and the Crossroads on this eve of Oct 31st, the Celtic New Year, or Samhain. Quite auspicious, really…. More on this at another time, as Hecate is a Goddess with many stories to tell.

Backing away from the idea of Bridge-as-Crossroad, the Bridge can be seen as a divider, a necessary change or path. There are stories about bridges, or where a bridge puts forth a heavy presence. There are cliches about bridges: a person will “cross that bridge” when he or she comes to it; or to “build” or “burn” one’s bridges. I suspect these bridges in the cliches are rarely literal and concrete.

But where is Hawthorne Bridge? It is rumoured to be in Lemuria. It may be tucked deep in the Murmuring Woods, near to where the willows droop into a rambling river. It most certainly is nearby what is Not Too Far Away. Perhaps near the mines or the Hermitage. It’s one of those places that seems to exist in that time-out-of-time, like the Isle of Avalon, and very much like the rest of Lemuria. I suspect that a traveller will find the bridge when they need to, when a change is necessary, when a decision needs to be made. This is where a traveller can lean against the smooth arced rail, watching the cool, deep water swirl and fold over itself into foam. This is where the veil shifts and thoughts blur and the Higher Self can whisper to the Monkey Mind. Do you hear the whisper?

Claude’s bridge