Posts Tagged ‘door’


with thanks to Rebecca Mullen for showing me the doors

And if a door closes

before another opens,

well, sometimes in the hall

between those doors

I find the precarious beauty

that can only be met

when I am not quite safe,

not quite certain, not quite

a self, and wholly here.

I’m talking tiny dust mote

in the deep field beauty—

beauty that refuses

to be named.

This is what it’s like

to learn to trust—

to live with one arm forward,

one arm back and feel

marvelously stretched,

perilously opened,

like a flute, like a kite,

like a wing.

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we become what we love and yet remain ourselves.

Martin Heidegger



and this is how

the vessel learns

that though it’s full

there’s room for more—

those sides of us

we thought were walls

were well concealed




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One Stuck




unable to find

a door to escape, I close

my eyes and find

I am the door

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And then one day, everywhere you look,

a door, waiting for you to open it.

In the apple tree. In the parking lot.


in a blade of grass. In each stone.

Not that it appeared because you are here.

More that it always existed and now


you can see it. In the asphalt drive.

In the dotted line. In the telephone ring.

In the scent of lemon. And every door


a world you might choose to enter.

Kiss on the neck. Cloudy sky.

Magpie wing. News headline.


You can’t possibly enter them all.

Button hole. Rising bread.

Sometimes you can go back


and the door will still open. Sometimes,

even on the most familiar path,

you can never go back again.

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If I prayed, which I don’t,
then we could say that I asked
god to open every door that I
had shut, every door I did not
know was there.
Why I asked this, well,
this will make sense to you
or it won’t, but every closed
door I was aware of
had became a point of suffering.
And with every open door,
I could feel congruence,
the world rushing in to create
more space in me.
And god said to me, though
we could not say that it was a voice,
god said, Open even the door with people jeering
on the other side, their faces twisted
in hate? Even the door to an entire
forest of sorrow? And because
this conversation was not really
happening, we could not say that
I said yes to the questions, but
we could say, perhaps, that
the yes began to root in me
and it was not so much a matter
of someone opening the doors
but that the doors more or less
dissolved. And what I had thought
could separate me from anything else
was shown to be nothing at all.
I would like to tell you that I felt grace
in the opening, but the truth
is I felt such terrible ache.
And god did not come put a hand
on my cheek and tell me
everything would be okay.
In fact, if anything, the voice
I did not hear told me
there are no promises.
But I felt it, the invitation
to keep opening doors,
to not close my eyes,
to not turn away.
And though I do not pray,
I said thank you, thank you.

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Six Invitations

walk into the wall
walk into the wall, walk in
to the wall, walk into
the wall, walk into the oh,
there’s a door


key after key
after three-hundred-sixty-
six keys that do not
fit the keyhole I find
the door’s unlocked


stepping through the door
to find
another door


who built
all these doorways


something about
a doorway—it seems to want
to be walked through


or is it the walker
who does the wanting,
already I feel
it rising me

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When I feel lonely, my first thought is that you hold the key to my loneliness. … In the end, seeking only brings us to the edge of knowing ourselves.
—Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening, November 10

Here it is not,
the key I was looking for,
here where I knocked
on beautiful doors,
and ornate doors, and grand
doors, and ancient doors, and
safe doors, and hidden
doors and doors of November.
But here it is,
so close I could hardly
step without walking into it,
this door that has
no lock, no key,
this door
with my own name
on it.

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What If Haiku

standing on the stoop
of your heart, too scared
to ring the bell

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between the night
and the fear, a door appears
a dark bird sings, sings

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