What is this perfect bridge? It is being in two places at once. It is having one foot inside and the other outside. It is being condemned and saved at the same time. What a peculiar thing! Are we talking about quantum physics? No. We are talking about a bridge connecting two opposite worlds. One that connects the perfect with the imperfect. A neutral territory that is neither alive nor dead. A limbo. A place where the hands of the clock seem to have stopped for a few moments.
And what is this bridge for? To bring the gifts of Heaven. To let a procession of them be delivered into barren lands. To make flowers grow again among the rocks. Gifts that open hearts in the middle of the desert. Hearts that, overflowing with life, venture into the world of chaos to restore its sanity.
Gifts that take the form of: “Do not be afraid, we are safe. We are standing on sacred ground. We are in a holy land, where there are no wars and no warriors. Where enemies are companions. Some lame, others one-eyed. All of them waiting for open arms.”
I, who am beginning to remember what Heaven is, freely give what belongs to everyone. For Love either is or it is not, and if it is, it should encompass everything. And who, following the trail of the gifts they have given along the way, could fail to find the path already marked? For every one of those gifts left behind a trail of small, bright white stones.
And who, having done the work of the perfect bridge, could lose their way after drinking from the fountain? Was that not the water of Life? Had they not drunk from the chalice of Life? And who, having tasted it, could ever settle for bleak and shadowy wastelands?
The gifts that had been given spread beyond the bridge, forming a little path of lanterns through the darkness for anyone willing to take the torch into their hands. To all those who already hold it, I ask directly:
—What greater desire could you have than to be the perfect bridge? The bridge that restores life to what was thought to be helpless and lacking.