Crossing The Bridge

I discovered this bridge with great delight my first morning in Breckenridge, Colorado in late June of this year. Over the next few days I was to cross a bridge in my consciousness, facilitated by the Crimson Circle school I attended that weekend.

Since then very little in my life is the same. Oh, I live in the same place with the same man and the same kitty and go to work at the same job but I am now different. I see and know from a new point of view that wasn’t possible before I crossed the bridge. I experience my life differently for the experiences I had and the people who touched my life. My heart is open in a way it has never been before and I see with new eyes now.

The things I’ve kept under wraps within myself are now becoming apparent. The secrets and lies I told myself are blurting out into my awareness. Nothing is sacred anymore and in the same breath I can say I know everything to be Divine. Like a river pouring over a waterfall, the revelations just keep on coming.

In the weeks and now months since I crossed that bridge the floodgates of awareness have opened wide and I am standing on new ground.

Neon Sunrise

I was awakened early this morning to bright sun light shining on my face through a sliver of space between the closed drapes. I opened the door of my motel room to take a look and saw the sun blazing orange welcoming me back on my first morning in my hometown in almost a year. I don’t remember the last time I saw the sun rise, much less glowing neon orange.

I grabbed my camera and went out to capture it in all its glory before old Sol settled back into his everyday golden-yellow hue. There is something so sacred to me about being outside, connected with nature, while the rest of the world is sleeping. This morning I was awed by my good fortune due in part to my having changed rooms twice yesterday when I checked in and ultimately ended up in a room that faces east.

They say God is in the details. I love it when I’m awake enough to notice some of those miraculous little things that happen all the time.

The Great Divide

From Wikipedia:

Continental Divide or Great Divide is the name given to the North American portion of the mountainous ridge which separates the watersheds that drain into the Pacific Ocean from those river systems which drain into the Atlantic Ocean…

I spent one of the most remarkable weekends of my life in Breckenridge, Colorado early this summer. I was there for a three-day school offered by the Crimson Circle, held at The Great Divide Lodge. In many ways this experience created a bridge in my life from where I have been to where I am going. I have crossed the line, now, and the waters that once flowed west will from here on flow east or vice versa… It doesn’t matter so much the direction, just that the flow has reversed and with it so many old patterns, beliefs and programs I have assumed were true, right and good about me are up for review.

The big question I came away from the school with is one I have asked myself for as long as I can remember. “Who am I?” Today I know I am not who I thought I was. I’m not who I was told I was nor am I who I was expected to be by well-meaning parents or impatient teachers. Today I see myself differently, more clearly and through a wider lens. Today I am throwing off all the old uniforms, costumes, disguises and concepts I once clung to and breathing a sigh of relief.

I can breathe freely now, put on comfortable clothes in colors I love and dance around my house. I can burst into spontaneous song without a second thought about what anyone else thinks and eat only the foods I like. I can run through my neighborhood on weekend mornings with my iPod and rejoice in the natural beauty around me and energetic miracles that occur within me as my body responds to my spirit’s delight in the pleasure of being fully alive.

I am just beginning to discover Who I Really Am. As they used to say in the TV commercial jingle from many years ago, “Try it, you’ll like it.”

Bridging the Past and Present

I remember this railroad bridge from when I was a kid. Train tracks run through the Midwestern town where I grew up and the trains chugged their way through on a daily basis.

We lived a few miles out, on the south side of town, far enough away from the train tracks that we didn’t hear the trains or their whistles from our neighborhood. Though we were downtown often enough that it wasn’t unusual to see a train, it was a rare event for me to see one cross the railroad bridge. I remember being especially thrilled on the occasions when was in just the right place at the right time to witness these crossings. Normally, this meant I was in the back seat of a car crossing one of the other bridges. I remember thinking it must be dangerous for something as big and long as a train to be crossing a bridge, and always held my breath, craning my neck to try to see if the bright red caboose (something I always got a kick out of seeing, anyway) made it to the safety of the other side.

This bridge has been redone in recent years as a footbridge. I love to look out over the flowing river below as I cross without the rush of cars interrupting those peaceful moments.

Today, I live near a world famous bridge, the Golden Gate. I’ve only crossed it once on foot. It was anything but peaceful. In fact, it was so cold and windy and there were so many people and so much traffic I have no desire to do it again. The bridges of Eau Claire and Wisconsin speak to me, though. They call me in my sleep, as if they hold the code or key to the mysteries within me.

When I visited my family last summer and drove across the bridge over the St. Croix River that connects Minnesota and Wisconsin I was moved to tears. I’m home, my body told me, as I felt what this crossing meant from deep within me. Energy collected in my heart, moved up to form a lump in my throat that eventually traveled all the way to my eyes and flowed down my cheeks in joyful recognition and celebration of my arrival, having made it full circle back, once again, to the place I was born.

Such is the gift of bridges. They allow us to get from where we are to where we’d like to go; from here to the other side and back again, if we choose.

City of Bridges

I was born and raised in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. When I was visiting last summer I went for a run by the river, as I always do when I’m there and got my first daytime look at a new park-like area at one end of town that has a labyrinth, flower gardens and a stone walkway with granite tiles here and there inscribed with some of the history of Eau Claire. Though I’d never heard Eau Claire called the City of Bridges, I was both surprised and delighted by this discovery and the granite tile on which it was written.

Long before I saw the park I’d been planning to take pictures of this downtown area and especially the bridges that have continued to fascinate me throughout my life.

For as long as I can remember I have had dreams of bridges. As with most things that are part of the normal, everyday landscape of our lives, we often fail to recognize that which is directly in front of us. I moved away from Eau Claire when I was eighteen and didn’t visit often. In my twenties and thirties, my time there was spent with family and friends and I gave little thought to the place itself.

I was in my late thirties before I went for my first run along the river downtown and was astonished to see that there were bridges everywhere I looked. There were bridges of all shapes and sizes. The old wooden railroad bridge that no train had crossed in years, had broken and missing boards that made spaces I could see through as I ran across; newer modern bridges had replaced the originals I remember from my youth; a footbridge went from the upper to the lower campus of the University of Wisconsin. I counted seven bridges within the few miles I ran that day.

No wonder I dreamt of bridges as a kid. The first dream I remember was a bridge dream. In it, my whole family fell into a river of rushing black water as the bridge we were crossing in our car collapsed. Bridges were as much a part of my inner landscape as my outer.

Since my visit last summer I have felt drawn to explore and write about bridges and what they represent to me. For the last month or so this urge to delve into this subject has gained momentum and more pieces of the puzzle have come to light. We shall see where this journey takes me.

Until next time.

Jodi.