A bridge to the light

I, you, he, she, we.
In the garden of mystic lovers
these are not true distinctions.

--Rumi, A Year with Rumi (April 21)

I love the allure of this path, which I found in the woods beside our meditation room last week. And I found the bridge intriguing, as it seemed to have no obvious function; didn't cross a stream, just a minor indentation (Which might, of course, be filled with water in another season).

The way the bridge stands out reminds me somehow of the early stages of faith: there's a certain amount of pride, of excitement, and clarity, when you begin this path. You feel like you've stepped up to the plate; you feel set apart, and special, as if there is a light that shines on you alone.

But, like this bridge, that feeling doesn't last -- although it may come again from time to time -- and at some point you step back down and join the rest of the throng on the long trudge through the forest of distracting thoughts and feelings. Sometimes that path gets hard to find and rather overgrown, but there are always other paths merging in, and a growing sense of rightness, and a light beckoning from up ahead to pull us forward.

But there are times when we -- or others -- need encouragement to draw us into the path again. So though we do get these moments of feeling special, and it's hard not to sense that we stepped up, the truth is that everyone is special. In this garden through which we move, there are no true distinctions, just occasional opportunities to glow; times when we are just walking, times when we step up into the light again, and times when we are not just standing on the bridge but, for a brief time, becoming the bridge, to help others find the way.

And it's all good.


PS: I'm off to California to help my daughter drive her car back up for a memorial service on Shaw this weekend. Thanks for your patience; I'll be back in a few days.