Friday, January 11, 2013

The Doors

No faithful followers, the Deputy has not magically become engrossed in the light rock sensation, but is merely here to discuss the doors that open, those that close, those that lead to different directions and those that lead to a brick wall.  But the good thing about the door with a brick wall, is that you know never to open that door again.  But is such a beautiful door, with a bright blue paint job and a brass handle newly shined.  There is white trim around the edges that frame this door in such an inviting and alluring way.

But oh that brick wall behind the door, do you dare confront it again.  As it leers at you since it knows that it has presented your fate with an unexpected hurdle. 

Not all hurdles are doors with brick walls behind them.  No, there are doors that we enter and look through and have a lovely visit.  Maybe a door to a park in mid-autumn with a light breeze and a Hilfiger family wearing chunky sweaters who beckons your all too-shined loafered self over to enjoy some tea sandwiches.  You engage and enjoy and never look back.  But as the fall turns into winter and you attempt to go back through that pleasant door, you realized it has shut and it forces you to look for another door.

You weather the weather and it turns bleak and cold.  The leaves have all shriveled and the floor is unrecognizable under the sheer of white.  Winter is fun with a nice cool hat and a wooly scarf, but for some reason, you only came expecting fall and now have to deal with winter.  You are ill-equipped, you thought that the fall could last forever. 

You wander, take paths, over fallen logs and through a thorny thicket.  At the other side you see a lake that has been frozen over.  You walk towards it and gently tap your toes on the ice to test its strength.  The water seems fine and you pounce onto the ice thinking that if you are going to make a plunge, might as well get it over with.  But the ice holds and you patiently meander further towards the center of this lake.  You notice a hole not too far off.  You are intrigued and go further.  You are freezing now and wonder whether you should have ever enjoyed the autumn when it brought such a baltic winter.  You venture further and gaze at this hole in the ice. 

At the lip of the hole, at first you see a deep dark blue, manifesting the freezing cold underneath the ice topped layer.  Then, for some reason, you realize that no water is passing through the deep blue and that there is actually a space for someone to pass through.  You cock your head in wonderment and look around as if the hoax to be played was crafted just for you.  Again, you gently tap your toe, since for some reason this has become the childhood, full-proof testing device.  Your toe does not get wet.

Without a sign of life on the horizon, you decide to take a chance.  A chance that may freeze you to death or reward you with an unexpected surprise.  You grab your nose and close your nostrils and close your eyes. 

You jump.

The hole has stripped you of all of your autumn sweaters and pants and dropped you into a dark, warm, blue lagoon with illuminescence all around.  You swim to another surface and look back to where you came from.  You realize that the little hole was actually a round door that had opened.  A door that has led you here.  You swim to the shore and slowly emerge from the warmth of the lagoon to the warmth of the accompanying shore.  You dig your toes into the sand and stretch your neck out in circles, clockwise.  You hear a splash and quickly whip around since, for some reason, this journey has been entirely too solitary.

A local approaches, whom you have deemed a local since he dropped from a boat and tied the boat to an all-too convenient rocked shaped as a post.  He comes forth since his journey seemed to have been similar.  You inquire as to the nature of his business and he back to you.  After telling him of the little round door in the little round hole in the ice, he tells you that you have found the only way to this tropical paradise, for no other door exists.  In fact, he and his wife met after both dropping through the hole after a pleasant picnic with the Hilfiger family.

In sum, dear readers, sometimes the road to where we would love to go is linear, but the journey itself is a tumultuous adventure of feeling.  The sporadic nature we find our future and fate is forever changing color and season.  We must find the purpose for our visit, and never fear to gently tap our toe into the awaiting abyss before we jump feet first with our hand on our nose, gripping our nostrils tight.

Fare thee well my travelers, my faithful wanderers.