Connection

I can see you now, a slight girl in a slim white slip of a dress, walking past and turning to catch my eye. You remember it too, and the way our eyes locked a moment, before I turned back to my client and you walked on. Your angels told you to come back later and give me a message. 'Don't let anyone tell you that you shouldn't be charging money for this work,' you said. 'You chose to help people this way. You didn't have to. You have a right to be paid.'  The week before, another young woman in a different market had harangued me loudly and publicly, telling me I was wrong to charge money for spiritual work. Your message was a vindication. You told me, too, you could see when I did my readings that I was connecting directly to Source. Impulsively I asked for your phone number. Thereafter, when I myself needed a reading, I would phone and ask you. When you wanted one, you would phone me. We were bridges of light for each other. We quickly became friends. Then you wanted me to be your adopted mother, replacing that other who was harsh and cold. I probably shouldn't have agreed. Now there are times when you hear me as her. If I am puzzled, you take it as criticism. When you react, I feel attacked.  It's easy to find a bridge to God, not always easy to maintain the bridge to each other.

thick cloud

blocks out the mountains

hides the sky 

Written for Haibun Monday #24: bridge at dVerse