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The Bridge

I now understand why my journey here was so focused into the five earthly senses.

I also understand why it began in Eden.

There was a part of me wanting to birth the spiritual from the physical, much like Eve was to have been fashioned from the rib of Adam. I wanted to integrate the physical with a less physical aspect, and was using them as a bridge to take me there.

What I have learned serves me well.

That just as no woman would have been content to be fashioned from the rib of Adam. No story of mine would be content to pin down two worlds for you in such a simplistic way.

But to describe them in language, now that becomes another matter. However, there is freedom in the telling, in each moment--of exactly how I see it happening now. And like you, I will have to wait to see what emerges here.

This is a world stranded between two dreams.

I am finding I am largely connected to both places.

However, in my beginnings here I chose to give more attention to one world, because I spend much of my time in the five senses there, which makes it familiar, and less vulnerable to share.

But sometimes the two worlds collide.

So, I've been doing a lot of walking here. Have you noticed? I must be in pretty good shape by now.

But it is pretty much because I haven't been able to do much else here yet. Closing my eyes, not wanting to see too much--not ready to see too much.

But fragments are coming together here. I am learning to see how both worlds fit together--one fully alive as experienced within a world of tangibility, and the other deep in a sea of sensation an imagination, where no perception can be trusted, because the same physical laws simply do not apply.

And then there is where both worlds superimpose themselves on one another, and nothing is as it seems. Still, it is all about where we focus our gaze, or is it blur our gaze.

Where the two worlds meet is at a bridge, and yet the bridge isn't solid and as simple as joining two locals suspended over a flowing body--although, it could be described this way.

In this place, all definition must fall away.

Rather than meet where one world describes the other, both must become fluid to a certain extent, to support the existence of both.

Both worlds are similar, in that they are subject to movement, to images that separate out, and can be described-- but what is yielded in description varies greatly between the two worlds. And what is interpreted by one may be completely inaccurate, and yet at the same time, there is no such thing as error in the other world. But somehow they are just parts of a whole, that is working just fine, no matter what we think--or think we are directing.

I haven't wanted to step into the more enigmatic parts of this yet, as it has been too difficult to trust that I won't get lost there-- and so I've been content to do a lot of walking. But it hasn't been in vain. I've been showing up and walking in the places where the portals to this other world can be most felt and accessed.

It is just now, however, that I see that entering a portal doesn't feel as physical as I'd imagined it would have to, so, I've slacked on telling the sides of the story where I've clearly entered new realms, waiting for more tangible evidence, something to pin down for you, so that this story might unfold for you in a more obvious way.

But, of course, that was the point all along, right? This avoidance would only serve me in opening my perceptions, in breaking down the physical properties that would keep me forever trying to see this new world through a keyhole.

So, let me begin today, in the world that I can't pin down.

It begins at the bridge, where both worlds meet...

I am in my bathroom, freshly bathed, and wrapped in a towel. There is nothing special about the day, and everything special about it.

When I meet myself on walkabout.

I find myself so overwhelmed with expansive love burning within, that I sink to the bathroom floor, sobbing. My hand over my heart, my head bowed. I feel myself open to a perspective bigger than myself.

In the darkness of closed lids, I have a strong image of me lying on my bed being observed by a purer essence of myself, warm and radiant, lighter in countenance, and contrasting with the heavier, denser form on the bed.

All the while I see this image in my mind's eye, I can feel the curve of my back pressing against the bathroom counter, my knees tucked into my chest.

The woman lying on the bed has her eyes closed and her brow furrowed. Her hands rest over her lower abdomen. She is deep in a form of prayer she is sure is cancelling itself out, as she asks for release and feels tinges of the impossibility of it.

The softer presence looks on her so lovingly, and with such warmth and compassion. She understands and hears her prayers, although does not share the judgement or fear about them. She feels only their beauty and sincerity. She recognizes the heaviness of entire lifetimes of seeking truth and understanding in the body before her. She feels the density of one who believes there is so much in the way of finding it. She recognizes the woman's fear that she is doing something wrong. But mostly she notices a gigantic opening in the energy field--this woman lying before her, touching into the void, as it truly dawns on her, it is impossible to do anything wrong.

In fact this is what has conjured this particular scene. The new--ready to release the old, creating a vacuum of monumental proportions, to draw in a new level of existence pregnant with possibility.

Crouched in the bathroom, this relationship becomes sealed in my cell memory. This deep exchange of love and release. The woman on the bed who wonders if anyone hears her, and the undeniable truth that she is being heard, that she has never been alone. That she is surrounded by a loving self, that watches her with tenderness. That there is great love for her. That there is great understanding and honoring of her every thought form. That the words of her prayers have little consequence. That what emanates from her heart into the heavens does all the speaking.

I feel as though if this woman watching her were to touch the woman lying before her on the bed, she would fill her with such dazzling light, such is the praying woman's readiness for release, and such is her need for healing, and such is the power of her onlooker.

But it is a goodbye energy that is the pervasive feeling.

And from the bathroom floor I hold my heart, releasing deep sobs, while taking in the scene, welcoming the convulsions, and yet, having no control of them. Not entirely sure what has control.

I find myself merged with the softer form, honoring and cherishing this woman on the bed, but knowing that it is indeed time to say goodbye. It is time to move into another way.

It is time.

The goodbye is said energetically-- a deep acknowledging of this woman lying on the bed, of all she has been, her fears, her loves, her joys, her sorrows, her perceived limitations, all her experience and where it has taken them--the rich journey that they've been given together as one and the same. This good-bye, couched with a readiness to welcome in another dispensation of experience, bringing the worlds together. A deep goodbye and honoring of all of the old, but no longer clinging to it.

She turns from watching the body on the bed.

An angelic hand reaches out for her, and they walk away from the body, letting it go, leaving what comes of it, to be turned over to heavenly gardeners, to use what is no longer needed as fertilizer for new growth and transformation.

On the bathroom floor, I begin to find my way back to myself. The sobbing calms, but a strong knowing that the bridge has been reached, but with no way to explain the hows of what has just happened.

When I get up and return to taking in the world with smells, touch, taste, hearing and seeing, with my earthly senses, there is the understanding that I will return to this bridge from time to time, and replay what has just happened, and that each time I will more and more strongly choose to exist further along a continuum toward the new. And that the old will become more and more assimilated into the ether, will become the ashes that harbor new life.


  1. Beautiful description of that place. Helps me remember what I keep forgetting.

  2. Brooke, I deeply appreciate you. Your writing has a quality to it that is utterly unique. Your words flow and dance.

    I have sobbed as your woman in the bathroom. I have been glimpsed with a moment of understanding that nothing is lost, everything has a purpose, there are no errors.

    The goodbye you describe is powerful. Thank you for showing up here so authentically. That makes it all perfect.


  3. Dual citizenship can be a bit confusing; particularly if you have to find a way of living in both places at once.
    I love this post. Your way of writing reveals meaning on so many levels. I’m glad that I found your blogs.


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