Bridges (to Ajda)

Song about human relationships. We are communicative bridges for each other. But bridges can be burnt as well as built.

My teacher is an idiot, who doesn’t know the half of it;
Still, if not for him, would not a quarter part be known.
Drinking beer and whisky, reading Gurdjieff and Ouspensky:
That is how I saw him then I left him there alone.
He taught me the necessity of setting fire to bridges
And, for my final lesson, how to burn the whole way through.
Now, in the extremity, with every due solemnity,
I must begin the patient work of building them anew.

It's mysterious what happens, like the shells inside of atoms,
When the journey ends and it's there you must arrive.
The horses are ferocious as they snort and stamp in harness
And it's cold inside the carriage, but you know that you're alive!
High above the precipice that spans the different buildings
Of the city, where light streams through the windows of our souls,
We spent a day in heaven, you and I, before the grieving
Could begin, in time, in circumstance, where the church bell tolls.

Forgiveness is divine: I'll not take God's for what is mine;
Still, a ritual humiliation calls grace from above,
Abjectly, for to show that all that goes down here below
Is taking place for reasons that we can describe as love.
For everything that happens has to serve some kind of purpose;
For every little consequence, a cause, a reason why;
And, though most of it’s mechanical, the scale is astronomical:
No-one can compute it – and we shouldn't even try!

The Indo-Europeans knew and named it: Kundalini –
It's true that there's a serpent that lies coiled inside our brains.
If we feed it meat, it sleeps; it can stay that way forever;
But, if it wakes, its energy could drive us all insane!
Seeking to contain it, or, improbably, to tame it,
The risks cannot be quantified; all strategies can fail;
In goading this Leviathan, we also rouse its antigen:
Best, perhaps, to let it slumber, swallowing its tail?

Caught up in infernal cogs, fearing we may die like dogs,
Seeking for a cure – who still has snake oil left to sell?
Enmeshed in this machinery, I’m passing through some scenery –
Running through a forest between paradise and hell.
I cross the concrete overpass into some other neighbourhood,
Pondering psychology, my heart begins to thud…
Then it really rankles, how they’re snapping at my ankles –
All the yelping curs and baying hounds, hungry for my blood!

Now I’m residing in this city, where the girls are all so pretty,
And I’m one of very many, who have come to live and work:
Through our culture and our history, to penetrate the mystery
Of decades and millennia shrouded in the murk.
The creation, conservation, through sincere communication
Of a world of true connection that unites the people’s hearts –
That is what the work is: the construction of new bridges
Upon the rock of ages – the place where this work starts!

Overarching, searching, often scorching, nearly touching –
We saw it in the rainbow’s arc, chromata of white light.
We cannot live together; there will always be a barrier…
But, to reach across this yawning gulf, to have the goal in sight,
Is to be of our own essence and to feel each other’s presence
As we walk the narrow path that is denied to all but few –
That’s why I’m determined to continue what we’ve started
And, although I’m broken hearted, I’m still building this bridge back to you!

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