Uplifting Joy



Start unknowingly.
Look, show up.
Engage.

Know transcendence is possible.
Surrender to the moment.
Accept exhilaration.

Understand without speaking,
without language.
Allow the spirit of St. Andrews
to rush in
and claim you 
in a gesture where 
time and space marry
and ask you to join, 
here, now.

No shadow falls
between the impulse and the action.

Joy lives here on this bridge 
 waiting 
for denizens of the world 
to clamor upon it
and let magic manifest.

Always say yes.

___________________________

     The title of this poem could also quite possible be Serendipity meets Joy!  Because this moment was not orchestrated.  It was a Friday night, my first in St. Andrews.  The nearby Firth of Forth was calm, and the sun had not yet begun to set.  A handful of people strolled about the 1st and 18th holes at St. Andrews, among them, Ursula herself.  

     The famous Swilcan Bridge sat in the distance, known the world over to golfers.  Its location and  setting were renowned for a photograph at the Home of Golf.

     As I strolled and ambled about, post a lovely Scottish brew at the pub nearby, a group of lads near the bridge beckoned me over.  

     "Would you take our picture? they asked enthusiastically.  

     "Sure," I replied, and did so.  I think they were footballers from Norway. Big, sturdy, strong guys enjoying their holiday.  

     They came down off the bridge and said,  "Well, don't you want your picture taken too?"  

     "OK, great," I replied, handing them my phone camera and walked onto the bridge.

     In a flash, four of the five lads surrounded me, lining up for the picture.  I felt myself being lifted straight up weightlessly by the lad on my right.

 Effortlessly, he hefted me into the air as I squealed, giggled and squirmed.  Gravity fell away and I became a feather.  From whence came this lightning-like unscripted moment? 

     It was full of serendipity, joy and uplifting emotion.  I will never, ever forget it. 

 Then, the lads, all as happy and giggly as they could be, disappeared as quickly as they had beckoned me...into the spirit of St. Andrews, carried by some lightness of being that was borne of an encounter with another stroller of the earth, at the Swilcan Bridge, that September eve.

Be sure to look for bridges, always,

Strolling Ursula

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