Monsters Under Bridges
A '90s punk story with a meditation and creative prompt for these times
Dear Fellow Human,
How are the current events of the world, of your country, of your communities, of your relations, and of your inner world humming these days? Are you feeling how they influence each other? Are you, like me, feeling a profoundly disquieting dissonance among these different strata of experience? How are you responding to what’s happening within and around you? Do your modes of response feel effective and sustainable to you?
My responses at the moment are quiet. This is partly due to a need to heal and recover from many years of hardship and loss, but there is another key reason: I want to be wholly and utterly clear about how to respond. So for now, while I utterly disagree with the decisions now being made by people in power, I am accepting what is happening enough to relax into a clearer observation that will foster a deeper understanding of what’s happening. Let’s call this getting in tune, both internally and externally.
I offer you this incantation (an unedited field recording made in a concrete tunnel) as a means of supporting this process:
So what does this have to do with punks and monsters under bridges? Everything, everything, everything.
The punk origin of monsters under bridges
When I was in my early 20s, I had a friend named E-Rose. She was an inventive, wise, and wildly creative spark of a human, whom I looked up to immensely. Undaunted by her allergy to garbanzo beans, E-Rose made mauve-colored black bean hummus. She drove a white utility van, and whenever she stepped on the break, she would extend her right arm out in front of the passenger and in her throaty alto voice, proclaim, “Mom arm!” She was straight (as in drug- and alcohol-free) without being straight edge. She rented the crawl space behind the attic room in the Church House in Portland, and filled it with an endless stream of drawn and painted creations. And at times, E-Rose would take jars of acrylic paint, brushes, and a jar of water under bridges she had scoped out for the purpose of painting monsters. And because I was her friend, had mischievous and adventurous streaks, and was a chronic monster draw-er myself, if I was in town, she would take me along, Mom arm and all.
Let me pause this story to tell you, Fellow Human, about the word monster. The modern definition of monster is a creature of unusual or frightening shape or size. Etymologically, however, the root of the word monster means to remind or make think of—i.e. an icon. Monsters, therefore, call to mind (mind has the same root word as monster) important things that we might otherwise forget. And now, back to our story:
We did not paint mean or scary monsters. We painted vividly colored, fantastical creatures of all different moods. These creatures possessed super powers: They flew. They breathed fire. They shot ice from their eyes. They shrank and grew as they pleased. They had as many or as few eyes and horns and teeth as they wanted. We didn’t know it at the time (or at least I didn’t), but we were painting icons, and perhaps even more than that, we were calling in forces of nature beyond our own limited ragamuffin capabilities.
Word got out among the punks about this monsters under bridges ritual, and thus it became a thing some of us did when a particular creative and impish mood struck us. And because we punks were wiggly creatures, who traveled about and set roots here and there, painting monsters under bridges spanned beyond Portland to other reaches of the punk anti-empire. E-Rose moved to Minneapolis, and before long, many monsters were painted under many bridges of the twin cities.
A couple years into the monsters-under-bridges movement, some friends and I painted monsters under a bridge in North Carolina. Unfortunately, E-Rose with her grounded and wise presence was not a part of this adventure, and thus a great deal of whiskey was involved in this monster-painting expedition. After a tumble as I emerged from beneath the newly monstered overpass, I ended up needing emergency surgery—but that is a story for another time. For aren’t we all short on time now, with our lives stretched thin between physical and digital realities? So for now, I will share only the crux of this side-tale: All actions are made stronger and cleaner by presence and clarity of mind, especially when we are dealing with icons and with power.
And speaking of time, Fellow Human, let me now weave this 1990s punk monsters-under-bridges story into our current era of climate chaos, unchecked technological growth (please, can we remember the unerring wisdom in the tale of Frankenstein’s monster?), growing economic disparity, threatened marginalized peoples and silenced voices, and war-ridden reality. Super computers and super weapons are being built. Super viruses have made their presences known. We will need super powers in order to effectively work with the challenges that are bound to unfold from these developing super conditions.
We will need monsters, and we will need them under bridges—those structures that give us passage from one reality to another; those structures that span across impasses and connect what seems un-connectable. Monsters—as tools of calling to mind deeper powers for us to tap into in times of need—will tune us to this moment, and to the moments to come. So for now, it is time to put those brushes and jars of paint in our rucksacks, sally forth into the darkness, find points of transition, and start painting. Paint benevolent new powers into being. Paint reminders of forgotten beneficent powers. Paint reminders of all the helpful powers we now have but do not honor, notice, or fully utilize. Here are a few ways we might do that:
MEDITATION
Let us begin our meditation, Fellow Human, not with monsters, but with bridges and their underbellies. Bridges span a gap between territories. The gap may be filled with water, rough terrain, or impenetrable brambles. And even if the terrain of the two territories is similar, they are also distinct because they are directly connected to different spans of space. One side is closer to the sea or to the mountains or to the swamps. One side is more in the midst of town or closer to the factory or to the more depressed part of town. One side gets more sunlight.
For this month’s meditation, you might imagine a bridge between two territories, and let your subconscious clue you into whatever passage you might be in the midst of (for when are we not in transition?), or you might go to an actual, physical bridge, and observe its circumstances.
Fellow Human, language is multi-layered in meaning. Territories might be made of land—or of people, their circumstances, and their beliefs.
First, the territories:
What is the territory like on the side of the bridge you are on?
What—if any—nature is this territory close to?
What urban or other human developments is this territory close to?
Do you know what’s on the other side of this bridge?
What nature and human developments is the other side close to?
How do these two territories compare?
Is there a side you prefer, and if so, why?
Now, the gap:
What is the area over which the bridge spans like?
Is it long or short, liquid or solid, full of life or relatively still?
Can you imagine traversing that space? How would you cross it if the bridge wasn’t there?
Now, the bridge:
How sturdy is the bridge?
What is it made of?
How long has the bridge been here?
How has this bridge impacted the two territories it connects and the gap it spans?
Now, the underbelly of the bridge:
We go across the tops of bridges, but the undersides of bridges secretly hold all that passes over them. Can you see, explore, or imagine this underside of your bridge? What is it like?
How is the underside different from the top of the bridge?
How does this underside world of the bridge look and feel? How is it different from the two territories the bridge connects and the gap the bridge spans?
Is your bridge underscored by supportive architecture, and if so, does that architecture create nooks and other potential abodes for pigeons, swallows, bats, and maybe even monsters?
And finally, the monsters:
Considering all of that you have observed in the two territories, the spanned gap, and both the face and underbelly of the bridge, what powers can you imagine being drawn to this point of transition?
What sort of creature would embody, amplify, and remind you of those powers when it comes time for you (or for many people) to make this crossing? Would the mosnter have wings? One or many horns? A hundred eyes? A big belly? A hefty tail? The ability to echolocate or mesmerize? Would the monster breathe fire or ice? How many hands, heads, and hearts would this monster have?
And most importantly, is this monster wise and benevolent, and will they teach and train you in everything they know?
CREATIVE PROMPT:
This month, I offer you one of my spagyric creative processes (named after an elaborately produced alchemical herbal medicine), which is more involved than my usual offerings. It’s a journey, and it will take you to new places you wouldn’t otherwise get to.
Whatever your medium is, draw a monster.
Don’t worry about how you draw. Don’t think about it. Just grab some paper and whatever drawing or painting tools you like, and let yourself enjoy making a fantastical creature. Let your monster have any mood that comes through. Let it have any appendages or lack thereof. Let it be lumpy or spiky or smooth. Let your monster be big or small, long or round or boxy. Let yourself enjoy the untethered act of drawing something that has never existed before. Don’t shape or judge or tease out your monster. Let it emerge. Naturally. Effortlessly.
You may, at this point, choose to step away from your monster. Let it breathe. Give yourself some rest. You just birthed a thing after all.
Get to know your monster.
Look your monster up and down. Turn it upside down and sideways. Flip the paper over, and hold it up to the light. What do all these different perspectives show you about your monster that you hadn’t noticed during the act of creation?
Consider what powers and wisdoms the shape and appearance of your monster implies. For example:
A monster with bird wings would have the capacity to get a bird’s eye view of things, and the abilities to go long distances with the help of the wind and rise above some of the limitations of gravity.
A monster with giant and mobile ears would have the gifts of hearing at great distances and also hearing frequencies beyond our human range of perception.
A happy monster would have the capacity for buoyancy even in difficult times.
A fierce monster might protect others who are more vulnerable.
Notice the qualities of your monster, and collect them into an understanding of this being, this icon, this teacher, this friend that you have created. You might, if you like, write out this perceived essence of your monster.
Under what bridge (i.e., point of transition) would this monster dwell? Is this a point of transition you are in right now, or one you see in your future? Is this a point of transition that you see in a larger context (e.g., global changes in climate, changes in society, etc.)? What are the two territories (earthly territories, eras, or groups of people) the bridge connects, and what is the gap it spans? What is the bridge made of?
In your medium of choice, create this bridge.
Create about the two worlds and the impasse that separates them. Create a way to span this gap and connect these two worlds. If you like, see if you might create this work in a way that channels the powers of your monster. Take this work to its fullest expression.
Again, rest.
Fly free.
Return to your medium of choice, and return to your monster. Reconnect with its essence. Imagine yourself full of your monster’s essence, and then create anything you like with the powers of your monster. Take this work to its fullest expression, and perhaps juxtapose it with the bridge you created. Do the two works resonate and converse with each other, or do they stand alone?
Thank you, Fellow Human, for reading. Thank you for creating. And thank you for supporting my work. Please share any creations that were inspired by this writing in the comments below, and let me know if you have any requests for next month.
Wishing you an inspired, empowered, and bright month,
Rae