“In the world there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I wonder about these doors, and I wonder how many I have passed by and not seen because I was too busy or distracted or tired. I wonder how many I have stood at, thinking about what lay on the other side, then turning away because I was too afraid. How many times have I stayed in the shadows where it feels safe, or made excuses. Sometimes opening a door is as simple as sitting down to write instead of sitting down to watch TV. Sometimes it’s about choosing to be present to the moment that lies shining here in the palm of my hand instead of getting stuck in the stories inside my head. It’s too easy to end up lost in the passages, walking forward but not really going anywhere except where you’ve been before… over the same territory in your mind, in your choices. I think maybe it has to do with being still long enough to listen to your life speak, to listen to God speak in that still small voice that is more powerful than a whirlwind. Then following that voice wherever it leads, through the door into the wide open space of new things, both big and small. I think this not going through the doors can become a habit, a kind of apathy of the mind. I have many stories that keep me outside the doors and they sound so sensible, so full of wisdom. And the resistance grows with each retelling so that I become more and more entrenched in the in between spaces where life stands still. I need to begin telling new stories.