The idea is not mine. The story merely by my word, my memory of what woke something inside of me, my life, unfinished.
This is only my adaptation of such an experience that is so human that to not understand, and to not act, should make you question, 'am I living or merely existing'.
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Imagine you are in a room, and in this room, there is a door. It is open a little and when you try to peer inside, the doorkeeper you were told about appears, towering over little you, head shaking. You have heard of worse keepers, and you know this is only a low level keeper of the sort, but you know better.
You do not try to enter. Time passes and you enter that room many times to ponder on what exactly is to be found through the door. Answers? a deeper fulfilment, glory and.. or.. This curiosity stirs inside. But you wait. The door is always open, just a little, you have never seen it uninviting, you have only glimpsed the keeper. But the stories others have spoken of, you know better. On few occasions you almost entered. But as with your breath that changed to be more shallow, so did your comfortability to become uncertain. And you have again and again decided against it. Rightly so, people have warned you of their keepers, told stories of terror, failure or disappointment in what they found. They must have been right and you are persuaded against daring and wait for permission that never seems to come, 'they must be right'..
Years pass. The curiosity eats at you, ages you and takes what you never had. How can this be? You hear stories and see others return from the other side of their own doors once feared. What privelage may they be given not alike your own? What hand dealt differently for them to have keepers less fearsome? You do not believe the lack of authority they speak of. Nor are you convinced the keeper at your door is equally or not more threatening than their own. 'What would it be like?' 'What secrets do those that pass now hold?' The lives of those you have seen allowed to pass are that much more rich, a calmness, a kindness, love and strength. Fearless, and a confidence that you neither feel yourself deserving of or understanding toward what... Toward what or who has given them more!
With more years that pass, and the knowing that your time is almost up. Your angst for not being deserving of this more that others have had is almost let go. You know now you can pass. You had told yourself this before, as your heart pounded and you were confronted in those moments of uncertainty that you turned from. Back when you were so full of life and potential. Back when there was only little in your possession and that risk needn't be tested unless wanting to be deemed irresponsible if failing to pass the keeper of the door.
You have now lived, at least that's what you are told... You are good, at least by the definition of those that approved, those that never knew your pain or had wants stronger than your own... You are happy, at least in moments you found admiration of those close. And yet in consideration to all this, you have few stories to speak of that another has not told. This question of living or existing was always been with you. Have you lived, was it with this person that tells stories you have seen or know of plenty, that person who partook in similar enjoyments of safety, the other maybe who seemed not afraid of their keeper but uninterested and vocal of their path certain, have you lived, have you actually? This doubt once felt for the door to pass through, now felt for the choices made, or rather, not made.
You know you can pass, this time is different. You have done right by what others have advised. The agreement is that this is now earnt, the permission you waited for is granted. And besides, nearing your end you grant yourself this permission for what little could be lost? Having taken a path more known, and advised safe, your heart does not race in the same way as you approach now. You've done right, that makes it easier and your curiosity, long since peaked is boiling with questions of 'what if'. Uncertainty exists but you now have others behind you. You have waited your turn and now everything left unknown, everything left unlived, decisions put off, await.
As you enter, you open the door further than having done before, the keeper appears. The keeper is not as intimidating as you had thought, merely a reflection of yourself. Identical yet not troubled, not having suffered in ways you've experienced. You see little reason for past concern, see no damage in taking this leap, and only now recognise quite the opposite. An appearance of courage and wisdom. A mirror of confidence you always held deep inside. You're excited, what did you fear, what lies have been told of the door, was this merely a fear of those that couldn't yet understand their own selves. Fear perpetuated by each other's doubts, and less likely their own honest assessment? Fear, of failure? You're going now, in the nick of time as the end nears, you're going to what awaits.
The keeper congratulates you, the keeper speaks! "This door was always for you, everything you ever longed for is on this other side". You know this, as you've come to terms with the confrontation being less than you had anticipated. The confrontation with the keeper, with yourself, that was too much for you to see sooner, the door not opened, the steps not taken.
"This was always for you” booms the keeper, "I have long waited for your arrival to take what's yours"—you motion forward—"But you have left this too late. And now, you shall never know!". This echoes, and you're body is still now, you feel a quiteness inside, sigh a breath, and the door slams—hear the click, the lock—of what was always yours, always meant to be... Gone. Forever.
#kafkaesque #defy