Door

The Door

I want to tell you about a door.  It is blue, or green, or whatever suits the need for its use. It smells of sandalwood, crisp autumn days - of hidden, silent summers that leave only embers of possibility to note their footprint.  Sounds waft their way to your ears and other senses - as if the idea that listening for sounds was the simply the easiest way of responding to vibrations - but engagement of other senses would make the experience, as a whole, be more satisfying.

Many stories have been written about it because it possesses many remarkable qualities - the least of which is that it is not well hidden. In fact, nearly everyone has accidentally opened it ... frequently preceded by hastily backing out of it.  There is an irony to its use in that those who open it the most are generally those who stop looking for it; this is because its position, much like its presentation, moves to match the need.

The door serves one purpose - it is a gateway to the what-ifs, the maybes, the fears, the hopes, and the insanity of reasonable possibility taken to however far well-meaning people are willing to take such discussions.  Truth-be-told, the fact that it is a door, and not a window or a slat or a porthole should give one pause.  Access to such ... madness ... would seem to be useless to only the most measured of souls.

How could we trust the untrustworthy, the unsteady, the antisocial, or the fool to safely traverse the lands on the other side of the doorway?  I propose that this is an artifact of the purpose of the door.  The souls who would most-benefit from the rewards of mastering traversal of the lands on the elder side of the door are also those least likely to walk those same lands.  So, much like the archetypical Cassandra, we need seers and vagabonds - people who we can comfortably distrust - to ask the mad questions, the ones that are unseemly, and await sufficient errant souls before we are willing to consider the commonality of the answers.

The door is real and guides exist - have existed since language had a visual component - but they wrap their guidance in riddles of story, of wit and prose, and provide maps and legends to keys as well hidden as the door: available to all who will make their use.  They have been trained to allow their craft be a means to clear out the riff-raff; those willing to use the keys and open the door will find access is easily, readily, and consistently granted.

Lay aside any concerns of worthiness, of sufficiency, of caustic cost or elemental ache; you cannot earn the right to access this door.  Nor can anyone open it for you.  Access is not granted through payment, nor struggle (though use eases access).  Instead, the door is yours for the opening - even this moment.  Will you?