This delicious tinge of loneliness begins the bridge. Where it goes at least appears to depend on the industry and creativity of our hands; but before leaning out into that, I’ll linger a bit in this scent of beginning. Loneliness, like longing, hints of a common source. Ever notice and savor the familiar lines in a mother-to-son face or a child’s expression that is so granddad?
Loneliness leads us further on, both ways. When my indulgence in the raindrops that yesterday spattered on the windowpane lured me out of the privacy of my study and onto my #poemaday Rainy Reasons, planks of the bridge began coming in: Joel added a comment from up in Buffalo, Cristina from all the way in Eastern Europe, and Bonnie who’s already almost in route here for our digital media retreat only three days away. Others, like Buffy, the RRVWP, maybe Kevin & Andrea, look in—like I do—into the open poetry of our shared lives, leaving presence without comment, reminders of our ultimate essence, whether spoken or not.
Kenneth Burke’s account of life as an ongoing conversation comes to mind, but more it’s my heart that feels the connection stretching, the way love tugs a bit, with that poignancy that tells the truth, the kind Cristina penetratingly tells. It’s the love that offers the opening to where no one is, because where the bridge goes, there is no one that isn’t us all.