Through The Fog — The Bridge To Nowhere

I walked upon a bridge and grasped–

A hand placed left, while the right– the right dangles freely, yet lifeless–– Barely grasping the air.

With one foot alongside the other–A glimpse into the prospective path:

Surreal,

Mystical,

Fog,

All three characteristics exist alone, and simultaneously together– the moment within itself.

Fear grips me as I tighten my heart’s hand on the ropes of the bridge.

My breath takes me–rapidly, shallow— to buckling knees The bridge breathes freely with suspension.

Trickling tears, trickling fears, or trickling sweat? — I can’t tell.

All that I can fathom is the thought of daring my footwork to move in the direction of intensity.

I can start to see myself— Inching forward in solitary advancement– step by step.

I can see myself now— Partly across –– Swaying, but persisting through the creaking insecurity of suspension.

I can see myself:

Falling in through the horizons fog.

I can see myself:

Disappearing.

[Silence]

[Silence]

[Wind]

Abruptly, I am swept back into my body.

I find myself— immovable — as I stand motionless at the head of the bridge. Still tightly clutching left– My working hand kept lifeless, as my feet have grown their roots into their place.

How to move if my feet don’t come with me.

My ground has escaped me. It has disappeared into the fogged emptiness ahead.

To grab hold of this fear I must lift my ground back under myself– Pulling every root out, until it finds new settlement with each ensuing impression.

My eyes have opened. My heart beats. My hand grips. My heart bleeds.

My feet lift— I am carried into the void.

---

The future is in the fog.

Littermature

---

Self Help Journaling

Ebook, Audiobook, Journaling Crash Course

Make It Stick, Write It Down. A Journaled Philosophy.
CLICK HERE TO LEARN MORE