On the winding river road

That carries one into Taos

Through the liquid heart of mountain valleys

And cliffs that still move an inch per year

There is an old, rickety one-lane bridge.

It leads from the paved road

Over the delicious river

To the other side where another road lies.

This road is dotted with boulders fallen

And sage and juniper and red willows.

It’s not the easier road for sure,

Not the road taken when one simply wants to GET somewhere.

It’s the complicated, slow, tedious route.

The one that forces a traveler to really look

Where she’s going — to consider the journey

For what it is, and to make encounters that are memorable.

There are rare and precious gifts on the slow road.

Fellow travelers propelled by their pain

To see with new eyes and search with their soul-senses

For the gold to be found there.

To share space with snakes and coyotes and shaman,

To decipher ancient messages and footprints,

To learn to dance the old way

And hold the wise secrets.

That bridge has a chain across it now

With a sign that says POSTED. KEEP OUT.

So unless a person knows, really knows

That she is meant for crossing over,

That she was made for the different kind of road,

She could get in trouble for being on that old bridge.

But once a person knows in her soul

Where she was always intended to be

No chain or sign or fear

Will ever be enough to keep her out.

That’s the kind of Knowing I need.