Thoughts after reading Edwin Friedman’s story, “The Bridge.”
One horizon seeker moves forward while simultaneously being held by the pain of yesterday. One bridge jumping egomaniac hangs by the thread of blame and self hate. One determined dreamer stands bent on carrying a weight that would leave the goal always a breath beyond the grasp. One heart beats with the fire of the future. One heart beats with the ice of the past. Hips steady the firm stance of planted earth and tethered soul.
Part suicide, part charity
Part responsibility, part abandon
Part rope, part air
Part freedom, part prison
Part motion, part stillness
Part conflict, part resolve
Part patience, part haste
Part burden, part relief
Decisions made one finger at a time. As clinched fists fight to maintain painful pattern and unknown comfort. Slowly with grinding teeth and steely gaze a wave of release washes today to tomorrow. A blink changes everything. At once there is no decision only life. Shoulders point forward, a bird chirps in the distance, and a person passes on the bridge.