There is a bridge over a wild river
where, to go, is to go into another land –
a forgotten self, uncharted, unknown,
unbidden, hidden in roiling swollen waters –
one’s being in its turbulent depths.

I hesitate – one step forward, two back –
keen to save my life from falling headlong
into the swirling and raging waters of life
where have gone before me
wandering saints, itinerant holy ones
huddling in hermitages, fasting in deserts,
drowning in baptismal waters of life.
They may live in silent rooms, spending days
with lost souls of a city, searching
highways, twisting byways to find
ones who are lost in riches or grief.
They sweep floors, stop to look in the mirror
to find their own obscure and hidden lives
lost in the shadows of deep and abiding love
unbounded by fear for who come their way.

When I was young I set on the path before me
fearsome creatures made of darkness,
saying, believing, lost in loneliness:

“I cannot cross over.
They will not let me pass unscathed.”

Will age, my growing older, give me courage
to step on the bridge, look below me
into the chaos of what has gone by
and what is still to come and say
“I wish to know, after all, what I look like
and who I am from the other side.”

Portland, Oregon – August 28, 2018

Photo is my own, taken August 2018, of a hikers bridge over a tributary of the White River, Ti’Swak (AKA, Mt. Rainier) National park.