A Bridge Unburned

Venture down
Leave no stone unturned –
Imperfect as it is,
Look for the bridge unburned

You can’t go back,
But you may meet in the middle
One day, ten thousand suns away
Whole,
… As you never were before


I continue to grasp my fortune after its end, but I hold nonetheless to what remains because when it’s over we are all changed but something stays that has taken root – something to learn from, to grow by.

For as long as we live the prima materia of our life deepens and it’s in the memories and experiences of the days and years lived, in the things that no one can take, where we find the substance of our lives. It’s only in the darkness of one door closing that we can see the light of the next.

I don’t mean to be esoteric, but language has its limits. Feelings, on the other hand, eclipse the vocabulary. This is the secret and the mission of the poets since time eternal.

Feelings – not emotions – are the language of the soul. In these stirrings, our feelings, is a constant happening, a compass, always showing us the way.

However, rare is the man who hears the bubbling wellspring beneath the sound of his thoughts. And rarer is the one who dives into it. Usually the ship sinks and if he does not go down with it; if he is willing to die at sea, he begins to live.

It’s taken me nearly thirty years to become fully alive and only in this discovered sense of living have I found true and total fulfillment. Previous to now, I was insensate to the satisfaction I desired, incapable of knowing true and sustained peace.

The soul’s wisdom does not leave a stone unturned, a question unanswered; it’s the voice of what I might call a God, or, perhaps, the receiving set for one. Having attuned myself to this Source, I don’t think I’ll ever find myself without the guiding light of the soul’s intuition again. Once you’ve been lost in the sea of life, scared and in a terrible way, fear either grows or loses its power completely. It’s only in bonding with the soul through which the latter is possible.

But this wasn’t just some sort of upgrade downloaded from the angels on high. I emerged from the cave I feared to enter with it. And the dark night of the soul may yet again visit me and Saturn will no doubt return, but I’ve earned a gilded armor in the same way a caterpillar becomes winged: through chrysalis, the mashing up of life and the destruction of form giving itself as fuel to the birth of another.

Before the phoenix raises from the ashes, he is forged in them, he burns.

Pass through the fire I say, go down the rabbit hole. For it’s only by courage we become brave. And it’s only by searching for the distant shore you can feel in your bones that you find the bridge unburned, the road back home.

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