Years ago, I had beloved mentor, an old Native American woman I came to know when, as the only white woman in a Native American Women’s Recovery house,I was being completely shunned by everyone and was about to run away.  

She said I should go if I wanted, but she had a story to tell me first, about the Bridge People.
Bridge people are of all different cultures and colors, and come here to walk the road of the Bridge Builder. Sometimes they are aware of this role, more often they are not, but in all cases, Great Sprit placed them where they were needed.  Sometimes this meant leaving their own culture to move into another, or even to travel though many.  Sometimes it meant staying in one place always, with others like themselves. But always, the Bridge people had far seeing eyes in their hearts, and always, they were seekers and wondered what else it was they had not yet seen.

She said the path of a Bridge Person was a often difficult one, full of fire-walks, for sameness is a safe comfort to most and they do not want to let it go. These fire-walks would often be fear filled and full of pain that makes one wish to fight back with sharp, deadly weapons, and sometimes, this indeed is necessary.  Many however, would be shown the way of the Talking Stick.

She said this way was to sit quietly around whatever campfire one came upon, and wait until someone passed you the Talking Stick. Until then, it was wise to listen well with the ears of the heart, to the one who held it. In this way, one could hear their truest song.

When the Talking Stick came into your hands, you could sing your own song, and the other would hear it with their hearts ears. In such a way, many songs can be learned.

She said as we learn to hear and share the songs of others, we are drawn to hear more,  and the desire for a bridge between us is born, to be fed and nurtured well for the good of all people.  

I understood little of this at the time, but I did not run away that day, because frankly, there wasn’t another campfire anywhere in sight other than this one, in this ratty old four-plex in the scariest neighborhood I had ever seen. Now I’m very glad I didn’t run , even though it was a VERY long time before they allowed me to hold the Talking Stick!  (Some were pretty blunt about it, too. "You talk too much. Listen now.")

I have been watching as so many good  people here at Boo have been working  very hard to reach out to each other from different shores, with  different understandings  of the language, and  from the inside of different lives and cultures and colors.   I know it has been extremely painful to many, and frustrating and confusing to others.

And I also see also no one has unleashed the sharp and deadly weapons.   Most have not left the pond.   And many are truly trying to listen with hearts ears.

This makes me feel pretty certain that I have not only found my way to a cool Pond full of fascinating, intelligent creatures,  but that many of those croaking, cooing,  cawing,  chirping, wing flapping, tail flipping beings are also hard working Bridge Builders, who amply deserve all the 4’s that come their way and more.