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On Doors

23. On Doors

The first thought that came into my mind was that I was floating somewhere unknown. But then, I was wrong. I thought I’ll be standing before a great golden gate, standing in a golden street just like in Wizard of Oz. But I was wrong, I am not Dorothy. I thought I’ll be in a misty place, and angels wearing white gown, wings connected to their shoulder blades, bringing their little harp. And again, I was wrong. Instead I was standing, facing a door. It was a door without a doorway, it just stood there. It was painted with brown and varnished. There, it made me remember my English class ages ago. We’re discussing about doors.

The opening and closing of doors are the most significant actions of

man's life. What a mystery lies in doors!

No man knows what awaits him when he opens a door. Even the most

familiar room, where the clock ticks and the hearth glows red at dusk,

may harbor surprises. The plumber may actually have called (while you

were out) and fixed that leaking faucet. The cook may have had a fit of

the vapors and demanded her passports. The wise man opens his front door

with humility and a spirit of acceptance…

Is this the door towards the paradise? I stepped back, and realized it was not only one door that stood…there was several doors, I mean hundreds of them in different size and color.

There are many kinds of doors. Revolving doors for hotels, shops and

public buildings. These are typical of the brisk, bustling ways of

modern life. Can you imagine John Milton or William Penn skipping

through a revolving door? Then there are the curious little slatted

doors that still swing outside denatured bar-rooms and extend only from

shoulder to knee.

I can’t imagine John Milton. He’s blind. He cannot skip through a revolving door. I imagine Edward. I saw a kitchen door, bathroom door, front door, doors with stickers on it saying: Keep Out. Does it have something to do with my life?

There are trapdoors, sliding doors, double doors,

stage doors, prison doors, glass doors. But the symbol and mystery of a

door resides in its quality of concealment. A glass door is not a door

at all, but a window. The meaning of a door is to hide what lies inside;

to keep the heart in suspense.

“Ed told me about doors,” I whispered to myself, deciding to open a door. It creaked when I opened it and saw a kitchen. There was a hesitation to step in, it might change my life. But I’m already dead. Am I dead? No one knows. I could still remember the night before I died. But am I really dead? I remembered everything…every thing. The rain, the van, the good-looking driving, Ed, The Woods, Ed’s story about the talking oak tree, Chip, Kippy. Kippy…why? Was that her revenge? Did she mean what she did? Am I in a dream? A nightmare perhaps? My head throbs in pain, so as my stomach. Pain.

Also, there are many ways of opening doors. There is the cheery push of

elbow with which the waiter shoves open the kitchen door when he bears