Build a Bridge

If you are a bridge-maker, there is much work to be done.

The ravine-makers have been working overtime to ensure that we all recognize and honor the separation that exists between us.

Man vs. woman, Millennials vs. GenXers, Liberal vs. Conservative. Race, religion, sexual orientation. The haves and the have-nots. Protestors, protectors, law enforcement, and corporations. Safety pin wearers and non-safety pin wearers. The American flag, the Confederate flag, the National Anthem. All of these things have created distinct and visible boundaries, a comfort zone if you will, a way to define who we are in this world and what we stand for, or won't stand for, as the case may be.

Eventually there comes a time when the ravine-makers have created so many things that separate us from our neighbors, friends and families that one day we look around and notice that we are each stranded on our own island, alone and fearful of those who are separated from us by those deep and impassable boundaries originally created to give us comfort. The comfort zone is now a fear zone. Even if we wanted to reach out to our neighbor, we can't, because those ravine-makers have been too successful at their jobs. The fear has become so deeply entrenched, we can't possibly leap across the divide.

That is, until the bridge-makers come along.

The bridge-makers recognize and honor the separation that exists between us just as the ravine-makers hoped they would. They see that it is much too big of a job to fill in the ravines. They applaud the ravine-makers for a job well done.

And then the bridge-makers set about the work they came here to do. They begin to span those immense divides with whatever materials they can find. Love and hope, smiles and laughter. Dreams, goals, aspirations. Similarities and commonalities.  Serendipities and synchronicities. When they are done building, they fearlessly cross those bridges, reaching out to those along the way, bringing people together while dispelling the fear that blankets each individual island.

The bridge-makers rescue us from the solitary life created by the "us vs. them" philosophy of the ravine-makers.

Now, if you think the ravine-makers and the bridge-makers are just another form of separation, think again. You are both a ravine-maker and a bridge-maker. Where do you want to put your energy?

The Prisoner (Ode to Michelangelo)

While in Florence this past September, I visited the Galleria dell'Accademia, well-known for the statue of David prominently on display. He is hard to miss. As soon as you enter the door to the first gallery, there he is, in all his glory, at the end of a long hallway. It's easy to see why visitors are immediately summoned to stand in his presence and to witness the enduring talent of his sculptor, the master, Michelangelo. He is beautiful. He is immense. He is powerful.

He is, after all, a finished masterpiece.

But if you pause, and take a moment to notice the unfinished sculptures that line the hallway leading up to David, you will find yourself witness to the process of creation itself, cut short by the very thing that enduring works of art attempt to cheat. Death.

The Prisoners, as they are known, are the pieces Michelangelo was working on at the time of his death. Their power lies in their lack of completion. When you view any one of them, you begin to notice that Michelangelo wasn't simply carving a figure from the stone, he was releasing the beauty that had always been there, patiently waiting for the sculptor to come along and free it from its prison of marble. If you could just move that little bit of stone, you would find the hand that wished to touch the face of a loved one, or the foot that longed to embark on a journey. Michelangelo wasn't sculpting the hand from his own imagination, or the foot from the vision within his artist's eye, he was simply setting them free to be whatever they were already meant to be. Ironically, when he died, he himself was set free from the bonds of a physical existence, but his death left the beloved unfinished pieces doomed to an eternity trapped in stone.

I can relate much more closely with The Prisoners than I can with David. I am nowhere near a finished masterpiece. I am a work in progress, waiting for my true beauty to be released. For the past several years, I have felt the work my sculptor was doing to release me. Bit by bit, and piece by piece, I could sense the beginning of my freedom as I emerged from the block of stone. Sometimes it was painful, often it was uncomfortable, but my sculptor worked patiently, with love and with care, continuously chipping away.

Setting me free to be whatever I was already meant to be.

Recently, however, I have found myself feeling trapped much like The Prisoners. Doomed to live out the rest of my life, just free enough to notice that I am not free at all. I haven't felt the loving hand of my sculptor for quite some time.

Which leads me to wonder...

What if my sculptor is dead?

For the Love of Creation

Today as I wandered through the Hall of 500 at the Palazzo Vecchio, I overheard a tour guide as he spoke about an unfinished sculpture of Michelangelo's on display in the hall. This particular piece was very close to completion at the time of Michelangelo's death, just unfinished enough to allow a glimpse into the development of the sculpture. I was surprised to learn that another unfinished piece existed. I thought only "The Prisoners", on display at the Accademia, were the extent of his unfinished work.

"Michelangelo was more interested in the process of his art than in the end result. He created art solely for his love of the creation, not for the display of the finished piece," the guide explained. "In his opinion, perfection was not desirable or attainable. But do you see, ironically, the perfection he has attained simply by allowing the creation to emerge from the unfinished stone? His love for the creation itself has allowed it to be exactly as it should be. Perfect."

I stopped and stared at this man, no longer trying to conceal the fact that I had been eavesdropping. He turned and smiled, then moved on with his paying guests. I had to sit down. Those words had touched something inside of me and I needed a moment to compose my thoughts (and to write down what the guide had said, so I didn't forget).

I have had a serious case of writer's block for the past few months. Much like the block of stone from which Michelangelo would release the magnificence of his creation, my words have been encased in a prison of my own making. In my fear of the display of the finished piece, I have ignored my love of the creation. I have not allowed the unfolding of that which is already inside of me, choosing instead to keep it locked away from prying eyes. I have chosen my fear of what the creation will be, rather than loving the creation into its own sense of what it wants to be.

This chance encounter was no accident. This was a message meant for me to hear. I am going to once again pick up my chisel and allow the words to flow, to become exactly what they want to be, solely for the love of the creation. This should be interesting to see what develops.