Like Water (or bridge to the abyss)

You stand on the edge of a great abyss and look down into a dark hole of mist and shadow. The abyss is terrifying, yet intriguing. Your body feels like a giant magnet is pulling you down into the rising froth.

To regain your self-control, you step back and survey the area around you: it is brightly illuminated, and the air is cool and comfortable. You try to plant your feet firmly on the smooth rock.

On your right a waterfall plunges into the abyss. It comes from a wide river with churning rapids. You walk back along the river and observe that, upstream, the river infiltrates cracks in the rocky riverbank that lead to numerous small hollows. The water settles into and takes the form of those small hollows. Depending on the ebb and flow of the river, the water adjusts, streaming into the abyss or drifting into the hollows of the riverbank.

To keep your mind off of the abyss, you feel compelled to make something — but you don’t know what. You think of many kinds of materials to make things with, and the materials instantly appear. Some materials are unfamiliar, but they whisper their secrets to you. You think of your table, your easel, your chair: They will make your work easier. Tools of all kinds magically appear, and with great concentration you learn how to use them safely and effectively.

Several days pass, and you build many things, but you still feel uncomfortable not knowing what you’re doing.

One day you are again standing by the river, and you notice another bank of rock on the other side. You wonder what or who may be over there. You decide to build a footbridge to the other side. You don’t know how to build a bridge, so you imagine a library with all sorts of books where you can research all things about bridges because you would like your bridge to look interesting as well as be able to hold your weight. The library appears, and you read about approaches to make your bridge. You organize your day into time for planning, time to eat, time for research, time to experiment with materials, and occasionally time to sleep. You learn to work inductively and deductively, to react to ideas with preliminary sketches and studies until you finally think you have found the best way to build a unique and functional footbridge. In addition, wood suddenly shouts: “I want to be your bridge!” You begin building the bridge with wood and make good progress.

When you get halfway across the river, you notice a large rabbit sitting and watching you on the other side.

The Rabbit isn’t an ordinary rabbit. It is as big as you are, and it has large, blue eyes and brown and white fur. The Rabbit asks you if you need assistance. You say you do not. The Rabbit politely gives you advice anyway about how and why your design will not hold up to your weight. While you don’t particularly like the Rabbit (or the advice), you decide to consider it. After more study you discover that the Rabbit has a point, and you start rebuilding.

The Rabbit brings many of its animal friends to observe your bridge and the building process. The animals have different opinions about the way your bridge looks, if it will function, if they even want a bridge. Some of the animals are afraid, some are angry, some are excited, and some decline to look at the bridge at all. You listen to most of what the animals say about your bridge. Some things they say make you sad: the Possum lost its brother when it fell off a bridge. Some things they say make you frustrated: the Penguin thought the bridge built to the south was the best bridge ever built, so why need anyone build another? The Mole looks at your bridge with disgust, and the Mouse looks at your bridge while nervously running in circles.

The Cat makes you laugh. He asks you if you would paint the bridge in colors of red, black, and chartreuse, as his favorite toy has these colors.

Over time the number of animals who take an interest in your bridge decreases. You continue to enjoy the friendship of the Cat and the knowledge of the Rabbit. In gratitude, you throw them small presents across the river. The Rabbit loves to read books on French Post-Structuralist philosophy, and the Cat loves to eat any kind of stinky cheese.

A day comes when your bridge is almost finished. As you are adding the last step to the other side, you notice the Rabbit and the Cat wait patiently for you. You finish the last step and place your foot on the other side of the riverbank for the first time. The three of you greet each other with a warm embrace. You look back at your bridge from this side and decide that you quite like how your bridge turned out. It is a composite of many items you’ve studied: the tiny bridge that spanned the creek in the neighborhood where you grew up; Granddad’s accordion; five integrated iterations of Auntie Helen’s favorite golfing umbrella. You and the Rabbit and Cat cheer! To celebrate, the three of you decide to cross the bridge together. Half way across the bridge the Cat starts to laugh. Suddenly the Cat turns into water, flows through the spaces of the bridge, and splashes into the river. You follow the sound of the Cat’s joyous laughter as it bubbles out into the current and flows over the edge of the great abyss with a final “Wee-Haw!” The Rabbit, smiling at you and winking one of its blue eyes, also turns into water and flows into the river below, puffing as it swims upstream like a salmon.

You stop for a moment and consider what has happened. You let go of the handrail on the bridge: the bridge turns into water and falls into the river below. You hover briefly in the air.  The fear of falling into the water and going over into the abyss drops out of you, and in an instant you turn into water, move with the current, and follow the Cat into the abyss, chuckling, flowing.