A sacred middle

We build bridges. Bridges between our realities.

Temporary bridges. Retractable bridges. Bridges that will bring us back. Bridges made of dreams. Bridges made of fear. Bridges made of want.

But bridges don’t unite realities. They become an alternative. A sacred middle. Not belonging. Not owning. Distorting space. Distorting distance. I stood for long on a bridge that night, below a restless moon, above an endless landfill of broken bridges. Here the questions change. The premise changes. The headwinds scatter, directionless. Silence erodes into a roar. Time starts and stops. Starts and stops. Like the staccato hymn of a universe, spinning into itself.

At that point between truths, even then, the answers remain the same.

no road
no destination
but what if we had continued walking?

38 thoughts on “A sacred middle

  1. There’s something sacred about walking, no matter if the destination disappears before our very eyes.


  2. This is a lovely haibun about what bridges could do. Bridges physically, or metaphorically. I like the take on bridges, not what we usually think of them.
    We thought bridges improve travel, unite people. But bridges are targets in war, the Sino-Japanese war started at a bridge, and bridges are where spymasters exchanged their prisoners. 🙂


  3. Like the staccato hymn of a universe, spinning into itself.”

    These lines stood out for me. Great haibun.



  4. The what if questions take a powerful lot of thinking about, never come to a real conclusion but it is reasonable to wonder… then just keep walking forward. Such a thoughtful poem.


  5. I never thought of bridges as doing anything other than bringing two sides together. Your poem is making me think of other things–bridges can be dividers, are removable, not always permanent… Something to think about.


  6. The bridge you described feels like a haunted place. By definition, it is a liminal space, but here it feels like a space to avoid the reality on either side rather than a way to go from one place to the next. Though even in that space, the ghost of “what if?” keeps you from hiding there too long.


  7. You are sooo right, bridges have their place and they know it, always is between Here and There. We need them though and they will be true. It’s we who keep messing up.
    I am so very glad to see you, google is being naughty to me and only lets me leave comments as anonymous. But so many won’t allow anonymous comments.


    1. It indeed is we who keep messing up! Thank you, Jim. Yes, blogger is tough esp when bloggers don’t allow non-google-ID comments. Also crazy that WP and Blogger can’t do cross notifications for replies.


  8. Just beautiful My favourite line ‘Like the staccato hymn of a universe, spinning into itself.’ and love that question ‘What if we had continued walking” That opens up a whole set of possibilities


  9. You stirred my soul with this poem, bringing up memories of moments I stood staring into eternity as I crossed the countless bridges in my life. But something pulled me on because I kept walking into new worlds and, then, more bridges. Thank you.


  10. Brilliant! “But bridges don’t unite realities. They become an alternative. A sacred middle.” It’s like a circuit that doesn’t connect, light blinking on and off. Some dream we can stay there, but can we stay in dis-engagement? Some dream the realities will come to touch. What then? How would the realities change each other? What if we “continued walking?”


    1. Thank you, Susan. Like a circuit that doesn’t connect.. perfect analogy. Maybe we ask for too much when we expect realities to touch… maybe they aren’t supposed to… ? I had a lot to think about when I was writing this….


      1. Bridges are made to get from point A to B.If they are burnt you find another way …swim, float on a log hang on to the mermaid’s tail etc as long as you keep moving on


  11. Sublime, Rajani. I will sit with this and ponder. So many bridges — the sacred middle – the staccato hymn of a universe – and that dangling, provocative question: what if?


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