Ritual, Manners, Privacy

A bridge is a ritual space, I have just discovered.  Like a ladder.  A bridge connects two spaces, the before and the after.  And crossing a bridge is its own kind of ritual, the way to enter a space and the way to leave a space behind.  Ritual can be as simple as turning to face a new direction; or it can be as ornate and brazen as the shield of Achilles.  Forged in the imagination of a skilled practitioner, ritual is a Godsend to someone like me who -- for various reasons -- craves that secret space, that private place where one knows and believes in something transcendent and beautiful.

Steel Door treats ritual here and it is a pretty primer, after all.  There are some things, though, that simply cannot be taught or read about; and in order to fully appreciate the connection that ritual affords, the deep-rooted and clutching connection, it's best to reach out and really live it and feel it with someone awesome.  Someone whose manners are like one's own. Someone whose ways make sense to oneself.  Someone with whom the whole world vanishes and any space becomes private space because of the deep-rooted and clutching connection.

Yes, it is possible to find exactly -- I mean, to the note, to the syllable -- what you're looking for in this world.