With gratitude, Marsha, something creative is
happening.
I've also noticed that I remember my dreams. For
the past year or more, that I worked at the very
stressful patterned place, I couldn't remember my
dreams. I couldn't even remember if I dreamed at all.
Some people say you still dream every night/sleep,
but I couldn't even remember if I did or not, except
for every once in a while. Ever since I left that
place, my dreams have returned. I remember them
often. Sometimes my dreams involve where I used to
work at, but even those are dreams I remember. For as
long as I worked at that place, I don't ever remember
dreaming about it. Now that I've left, I'm dreaming
about it. It's not so much what the dreams are about,
for now, though they are indeed interesting. It is
that I'm dreaming and I remember the dreams. I'm
still involved with other events, but I find, at least
for now, some input on this forum is fun. I may be
able to respond and discuss, but I feel I need to
limit my time, for balances sake, to how much I
involve myself on this forum. I'm going to try to
keep other efforts that I'm currently involved with
supported by a motivation that isn't too finely
focused. I'm trying to keep time open for the other
activities. This *bridge* is something that still
stirs, and I would like to share this story with
everybody.
I'll call this story "bridge musing" to further
spin from what is on-going in this discussion. Maybe
it takes some time, a little patience, and then this
happens...
bridge musing
- by SA (now)
An ordinary bridge stands erected over the
flowing water. It is wooden with stone foundations.
Arched in such a way, that in this region when the
rains come or the mountain snow melts, the high waters
do not reach over the wooden walk way. Along comes a
bird, a black-capped chickadee to be more exact, and
flying straight in to land upon the middle of this
lovely bridge. Who's hands have built this bridge are
not known, for it is very old.
The chickadee sings a tune, one so beautiful,
fish jump in joy of this splendid song. Slowly, the
chickadee quietens. The song disappears and the fish
go about their ordinary business.
A turtle rises to the surface of the water and
calls up to the black-capped chickadee, "Which side of
the bridge do you live?"
The bird answers, "I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Where do you
eat?" inquisitively asks the turtle.
"I have fed on both sides of this bridge,"
answers the bird.
"Where is your nest?" asks the turtle.
"I don't know. I flew so high into the clouds
that I couldn't see the earth anymore, and when I
returned through the clouds all that I could see below
was this bridge. Thus, I landed here," the bird
ruffles feathers and flaps the wings in order to
stretch.
"Where will you go from here?" the turtle struck
by answers that lead nowhere, continues to ask again.
"I don't know. The view from this bridge is
excellent."
"I know how we can figure this out!" a brilliant
idea comes to the turtle.
"Figure what out?" asks the bird.
"Where to go from here silly. We can figured out
what side of the bridge you are standing upon, and
connect that side of the bridge with the land in which
it is closest to," with excitement the turtle swims
closer to the bridge and looks underneath the bird to
judge which side the bird stands closest to.
"Do what you must," says the bird, "I'm going to
sing another song."
"Ok," says the brown with red stripes and dots
including yellow as well in the same pattern - turtle.
The turtle peers up and can't find which side the
feet and claws stand most upon. So the turtle looks
for a feather that might be dangling further upon one
side of the bridge more than the other.
"seeeee, teetle, teetle, sweet, sweet," and on
goes the bird, singing away.
The fish jump again, lovely is this song, "I
wonder were it comes from," all the fish say in
unison.
The turtle shouts to the fish, "The bird on the
bridge is singing this beautiful song, and I'm helping
this bird figure out what side of the bridge the bird
is on."
The fish stop jumping and curiously ask the
turtle, "What bird?"
The turtle simply states, "That bird on the
bridge."
The music has disappeared and the turtle turns
back to the bridge. The bird is gone. It must of
flown away.
The fish look at each other and wonder amongst
themselves, "Hmmm, I wonder what side of this bridge
the turtle is from. HShe's quite odd," and the fish
go on debating until all is dark and nobody can see
each other anymore, unless up very close for no moon
is around tonight.
And the bridge says, "Hmmm, what side am I. What
of the air I arch into? What of the land I arch into?
What of this water that flows under me, and on me as
the rain? I seem to be in all places, not one more
than another. So, what can I be called? This land
has a name, that land has a name, this water has a
name, maybe I am simply bridge."
woods,
SA
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