Bridges, Not Walls...

A few days ago I sat in the afternoon sun with my dog Peaches and stared at the Golden Gate Bridge and a flood of memories started to come: I remembered sailing under the bridge to cast my stepfather’s ashes into the Pacific just before downing a bottle of Dom Perignon, I remembered sailing under that glorious bridge on a gala Princess cruise to Alaska with my sad widowed mother and my reluctant husband, I recalled an old friend of mine, a lonely creative genius, throwing himself off that bridge many years ago when his solitary life became intolerable, I remembered returning to San Francisco after a month on silent retreat in Marin and feeling great joy as I came across that wild orange bridge and saw my city of hills bathed in sunlight, winking at me. This bridge has been a presence in my life ever since I was a very young girl sleeping at my grandmother’s house listening to the beautiful moaning fog horns at night… Each time I take another look at this landmark hovering over the Pacific I feel deep gratitude for the bridge, for the land that it connects, the beautiful bay it traverses, the sense of possibility it suggests …

This brings me to the subject of bridges in general. You have to admit that bridges have grandeur, right? They make a statement, they stretch between two previously unconnected bodies of earth, or in metaphorical terms between two human beings. Some bridges come to mind which are quirky statements of man’s imagination and ingenuity: the Brooklyn Bridge, London Bridge, the Ponte Vecchio over the Arno, the Pont Neuf in Paris, the Golden Gate and its sister bridge, the Bay bridge stretching from west to east with its sparkling nighttime lights… I think what is grand about bridges is that their job is to connect humans to a place, bringing each person who crosses to a previously unknown experience. Bridges help us continue on our journey of discovery.

Recently I wrote a blog essay about my trip to Japan with my daughter in 2016 and in that piece I reflected that the gifts we both received along the way felt like bridges, allowing each of us to cross over from where we were previously to some place new and different. When I went to Japan then I was leaping into terrain that was different from most of my other voyages. The divide between American and Japanese cultures is significant: Japan is genteel and well ordered while America is informal, sometimes arrogant, and distinctly chaotic, Japan is devoted to the cultivation of culture (the arts in particular) while America prides itself on technology, Japan is devoted to the idea of lineage and tradition in all its cultural expressions, and America seems to operate from a zoom lens approach to addressing what works in this present moment…. The histories are different and the traditions have little to do with one another. There were several occasions on that trip where I felt that my daughter and I crossed over an invisible “bridge”: a tea ceremony in Kyoto where we sat in silence and listened to the wisdom of the buddhist abbott, the visit with the indigo master where we were invited to engage in understanding just how exquisite fabrics are dyed, and finally a beautifully crafted feast by our guide and host in his elegant home that afforded us not only immense sensual pleasure but also a delight in being part of a true art form. Each of these occasions was a distinct moment in time where we became immersed in the experience without many words or explanation.. Experiences like these exceed anything one might come across in a guidebook that attempts to instruct us about culture. These moments hold us, move our hearts, and stay with us as we move forward on our journey.

The Buddhists tell us that in direct experiences we cease to cling to our own identity. We become the essence of awareness itself as our overactive minds cease to be in control. This is the most powerful learning. And that is one of the primary reasons I get on airplanes large and small to go to far away places — for the discovery of something different than that which I carry. There’s another reason we travel: to learn something about who are as human beings. I’ve had more revelations about myself in foreign places than I’ve had in any therapist’s office, school room, or words from my elders. The book that I recently completed, Bowing to Elephants, is a testimony to this, in a way. In India I discovered my deep felt discomfort with social disparity and the class system, in Italy I discovered my deep longing for beautiful comforting food and ancient history, in Paris I realized that my deepest desire was to look at and pay respect to art, in Cambodia I came face to face with my ongoing fascination with death and loss, and in Burma I saw reflected back to me that which I had so hungered for: lovingkindness. On each of these adventures I had to cross a bridge of sorts to get to where I needed to be, and through each of these experiences I became an expanded, more fully realized person.

Walls can impede our progress on this path of realization. In my case there were invisible walls between me and those I loved, walls that spoke of fear and distrust. There were walls of denial. And all I could think of was that I needed to understand more, to stretch myself to see myself more clearly. In the end we can’t navigate this life if we don’t understand the signposts and know who we are. Every time I think of the concrete historical walls in our history, the Berlin Wall, the Wall of China, and most recently a surreal and cruel comic book version of a wall separating us from our neighbors to the South, I realize these are structures meant to separate not unite, impede not assist, and I think of the Robert Frost poem that says, “good fences make good neighbors.” The poet never meant this literally of course. Most walls and fences are meant to stop people in their journey forward, divide them from one another, and turn our geography into a checkerboard.

Less than a week from now I will embark on yet another odyssey with my daughter, this time to Peru’s land of the Incas and the Amazon, and I look forward to crossing some bridges and finding out more about who I am and what I love. My return to blogging will resume following my return in about three weeks. I’m thankful for all of you who are listening…