Bridge Under Water

The Unexpected

In a post a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned a scene I saw in a short meditation. I came to a bridge, which I knew I was meant to cross, even though there were other nearby bridges that were more modern, popular, and secure. I sat in my writing chair this weekend not sure where to go with my writing. I closed my eyes. After several rounds of controlled breath in stillness, I was standing at the entrance to this rickety, wood bridge again. To my surprise, I received the strong sense that I was meant to cross it then and there. Fear flooded my body. I didn’t know what it meant or what was going to happen in the visualization.

What I did know is that I was meant to start stepping across it. Ultimately, not even fear can take that knowing from me in situations now.

I began to walk across the bridge.

I started to feel lighter. My steps slowed. Gravity left me. I suddenly realized I was walking in water.

I started to shake with giggling laughter. When I was standing at the entrance of the bridge, I couldn’t see that it was under crystal clear, still water. From where I stood, it looked like a bridge suspended in air over a canyon, miles from the ground below. Only once I started to step did I realize I couldn’t fall. I would be walking through water I didn’t initially see was there.

I think I’m realizing this is where I’ve been this year. I’ve been crossing this bridge from one life season to the next. I’ve known it is meant for me, even though it was terrifying to begin stepping.

I found myself in the water. I found I could keep stepping. I could even slow down. I could stop and float sometimes, as long as I held onto the bridge. My fear of falling was transmuted by the peace of the water. Instead of trying to cross as fast as I could, I started making sure I didn’t miss anything along the way. If I didn’t see the water when I first started, what else did I not understand about the path? I stayed curious about what else there was to see.

Eventually the wandering curiosity landed back with a prompt to keep it simple.

A bridge is for crossing. Keep stepping.

So I did.

As I write this, I sense that I am at the end of this particular bridge. I stand in the water and feel the rope on either side of me still in my hands. I look forward and see grass and dirt. I see solid ground. There is no going back, so I will go forward.

I keep standing still before I take the step. The earth in front of me feels so sure. It seems so certain. I got used to the flexibility and fluidity of the water. I got used to transition. I knew the bridge wasn’t a destination when I started walking across, so I could look forward to where it was leading me.

I don’t know what I’m looking forward to when I step towards this new earth.

I’ve come far enough to know that the way is not to turn around and go back.

My Substack will turn one year old this month. I have thought about quitting before that date to avoid acknowledging it and potentially feeling any pressure with the anniversary. I am afraid of it because of how special this place has become for me. I experience fear of losing it. I experience fear of it changing. I experience fear of it staying the same. I experience a little fear every time I sit down to write.

Fear is ravenous and insatiable.

I recall my fear was transmuted into peace by stepping out onto the bridge in my vision. I came to discover very real support I didn’t know was there at first- the water.

When I write, my fear is transmuted into love. What is the equivalent to the water in this case? Is it you all being here with me? Is it just the nature of creativity? What is the secret sauce here? I’m not really sure how to describe it in this moment.

Fear is ravenous and insatiable. It will keep taking as much as I feed it.

Love needs nothing and is fulfilled in itself.

As long as I keep finding that love, I will keep stepping in the way it illuminates.

And here is a love-infused sentence that my fearful self didn’t expect to say to you all in today’s post:

I look forward to celebrating Seeing Upside Down’s birthday with you all next week.

with love,

Jeannie Lynn