Sometimes, A Bridge

A Bridge
As you emerge from beneath the canopy, you come upon a bridge. Photo by Tim Graves

On the trail, you sometimes wander. You wonder how you came to be on this path when you really want to be on another. You thought you read the map. You thought you understood the trail markings. And…

And still you find yourself on this path when you really want to be on another. So, you keep moving forward. Placing foot ahead of foot, you whine at your aching muscles. You allow yourself to be bored by the beauty surrounding you. But…

But this is your path and aching muscles can become stronger. This is your path. It is your journey. And, so, you try to convince yourself that this trail is the trail upon which you belong. But…

But this is not an easy journey. Switchback after steep switchback you move. In the struggle you forget to complain. Your thoughts drift and you wonder. Where will it end? Will there be vistas of ocean or mountains? Will you find a bench beside a clear stream babbling over jagged rocks to rest your tired feet?

A sound pulls you out of your wandering wonder and you notice those who inhabit the nearby trees and bushes. The jays scold you. The squirrels alert their kindred of your presence. And you find joy in their presence. A smile and a chuckle escape your lips. As…

As you round the bend you see the sunlight touching the ground. As you emerge from beneath the canopy, you come upon a bridge. Sometimes…

Sometimes, you come upon a bridge.

Carefully, you step upon its aging planks. Will it hold? Where does it lead? Arriving on the other side, you realize this is the path upon which you wanted to journey all along. This is your path. This is your bridge.

Seeking the Origin

Seeking the Origin
A yellow gem emerges from its slumber. Photo by Tim Graves
A yellow gem emerges from its slumber. Photo by Tim Graves

Left foot, right foot. My legs move repetitively one after another. On the packed sand, I move at a good clip in the midst of the adaptable vegetation that thrives on the dunes.

Moving my whole body at an energetic pace en route to the ocean, I only pause to breathe in the noble vistas or tiny gems that border, and sometimes encroach upon, the trail.

The path does not remain an idyllic easy-to-traverse route. Much of the trail is loose sand as I journey over and through the dunes. Struggling as the ground shifts beneath my feet, my stride slows. I feel each step not in my calves but in my right hip (Genesis 32:25).

Left foot, right foot. I am determined to return to the sea from which Darwin posits all life emerged. With each footfall the stress of recent weeks moves through my muscles and exits my psyche. Yearning to commune with the One, my spirit moves my body toward the divine breath that sweeps over the face of the waters (Genesis 1:2).

Signs of Confusion
Signs of Confusion. Photo by Tim Graves

As I near the sea, the blowing sands have covered my path. Signs placed to point the way perplex me. Confusion overcomes me. “Which way is the right way?” I lament. Without an obvious answer, without a simple answer or a definitive path to follow, a gut choice is all that remains. I stake out toward the sea of life through the final dune.

Left foot, right foot. My feet arrive on the beach as the wind blows away the morning fog. The sun warms my face as the breath of origin envelopes me.

Photo by Tim Graves
The Breath of Origin. Photo by Tim Graves