Open Doors
With that soul-set, I let go of the keys that I held on to so tightly just yesterday... collected from years of hoping, wishing, wanting and even keys that made me dream out loud. Those keys were alive! Collected from years of unlocking and re-locking, often to discover that the locks had occasionally even been re-keyed; More often than not, I chose to forget, or perhaps, I chose to remember - just not a memory of what actually happened. Magic works like that! It can re-route and re-design, all with the intent to create new possibilities and even to protect.
I listen as the keys fall in chime with their final clanging desperation, begging me to catch them.
I listen. They land. They find their places and then settle into silence.
And I do not pick them up.
I notice that I am surrounded by images of doors. Some are figurative... some open and inviting... some locked and forbidding ... some wildly colored with glass and cracking pigment.... and even some that are scarred by centuries of weather and war.
Without keys, I am forced to lean into them. I look through the glass on particular ones and observe what's on the other side; Wondering if it's ok to believe what I see. I listen closely to the wood ones giggle and creak their stories into my ear; I hear the victory in their pain. Then there are heavy, iron, seemingly impenetrable works of art, that are so cold to the touch that I shiver at the mere of idea of it opening; The cool outside having been absorbed for so long, suddenly allowed to freely enter and mix with warmth.
I make eye-contact with the living light that dances through the open doors. I let it touch my skin. Some of the light makes promises that I've heard before, the open door translates them into something that I just believe.
Opportunity simply saunters in and out. The restraints of thinking that what comes in must stay and what leaves must never return, dissolve into the whisper of the open door.
The open doors whisper, "Passage."
And so I leave them open.
I listen. They land. They find their places and then settle into silence.
And I do not pick them up.
I notice that I am surrounded by images of doors. Some are figurative... some open and inviting... some locked and forbidding ... some wildly colored with glass and cracking pigment.... and even some that are scarred by centuries of weather and war.
Without keys, I am forced to lean into them. I look through the glass on particular ones and observe what's on the other side; Wondering if it's ok to believe what I see. I listen closely to the wood ones giggle and creak their stories into my ear; I hear the victory in their pain. Then there are heavy, iron, seemingly impenetrable works of art, that are so cold to the touch that I shiver at the mere of idea of it opening; The cool outside having been absorbed for so long, suddenly allowed to freely enter and mix with warmth.
I make eye-contact with the living light that dances through the open doors. I let it touch my skin. Some of the light makes promises that I've heard before, the open door translates them into something that I just believe.
Opportunity simply saunters in and out. The restraints of thinking that what comes in must stay and what leaves must never return, dissolve into the whisper of the open door.
The open doors whisper, "Passage."
And so I leave them open.
Perfect way to start the new year!
ReplyDeleteSo beautiful!
ReplyDelete