Behind the gates


I have often watched, minutes, hours or days in a row, those gates, closed and open on different days, differently, by different people. Maybe that door had something mysterious or maybe the mystery was not noticed until I felt that something was missing, as if it was a sad and absent air.

Something was missing, the gate was blowing everywhere and it was more open.

I had a strange feeling that nobody, for a long time, had consciously closed the door before. There was no human breath in front or behind the gates. Fascinatingly painful this gate game! How did she tell me, in her silence, that she no longer had anyone to put her latch on ?!
Until one day – a cold day, with a strong wind, of a deep gray color, obviously struggling with the sun, when a large, slightly rusty and sad car appeared. From inside that car, three or four young people, indifferent to the noise of the small and brutal gate which they hurriedly opened, most likely under the pressure of the work day.
Then I understood what was missing and who was missing in front or behind the door that remained open, into the wind, waiting for the master to close it or open it with good intentions.

The master who never came, who left one day, as in many others.

Only he knows where and only he knows why, but who has never returned. The onion left in the fall and the cat food. The medical bicycle and the spare tires for the car remained on the porch.
They all waited for him motionless, until the young men entered the gate without any interest, during the work day. Waiting for the most likely reward day, they threw in that car the onion, the cat food, the tires and the bicycle.
Strange images, older and newer, pervade me dizzy and paranoid in front of my eyes. I see the good and gentle eyes that look at me. They look at me when I walk out my door, neighbor to the gate of the man who left without saying where or even why.

I see the raised hand respectfully, who warmly greets me, wishing me, as if, a beautiful day and with increase.

I feel the air of politeness mixed with infinite kindness, decency and modesty – all hidden by a wise smile. It flees through my eyes, and especially through my mind. That serene spring day, when it came to me, hurried and smiling, with an agenda that she gave me with mysterious words.

I felt like you had something to write. I know you need this agenda. How did he know that on that agenda I would be writing about the door that stayed open, carelessly, into the wind? Or that I will be writing about choosing to consciously close a gate beyond which you cannot be, free and worthy.

How did the good man know, after only five minutes he looked at me briefly.

That’s how I thought – that the agenda was the most appropriate gift that replaced the traditional words “Welcome!” Or “Who are you and what are you doing?”
Dazzling images are now encircled in my mind, disturbing insights and heartwarming understandings.

There was no need for words, no need for slogans, no need for traditional socialization specific to the arrival of new neighbors. Now I understand much better that people, in essence, have good honest communication with words, feeling, vibration, living on the same wavelength.

I now understand the significance of the seemingly insane decision to let your senses guide you and pass judgment and analysis in the background.

After all, what’s left for us?

An open gate, an onion crate, a bicycle … all thrown in a rushed and slightly rusty car. And what’s left of us after all? The gifts of soul offered as a symbol that associates the man with his actions and intentions. Without words, without traditions, without formal acts, but only by simple communication from the eyes, behind them being, in fact, the senses, intuition and great emotional guide.

I fear and understand: this gate, already in the wind, which seems as if its master still waits for it to close consciously, is so close to my gate.

What do gates talk to each other?

Tremendously when I sense what she might say to my wear my portions … I’m afraid not to stay in the wind and my gate. Without me consciously closing it, without ordering my bike, onion box, tires and cat food.

I am thrilled: if those indifferent young people will come to my door and throw all these now messy things in the same rusty car? I shudder and understand my fear when I understand that fat-free gates speak much more empathically than we humans do.
Finally, I can only ask, inwardly and timidly: who will close the gates (and) after me? And what could I leave behind or beyond my gate?

Or what could we take with us, what could I take with me?

One thing is certain: we know when to go and where, we know when to close the door behind us. We do not know when or if we will return to open it consciously.

Paradoxal premonition, fulfilling prophecy fulfilled. The two gates spoke! And my gate, neighbor to the gate that remained open in the wind. Caught the idea that it could close and open on its own, without conscious intervention. And it caught me in this game of transition to new worlds.

Subliminal artifice! My gate closed this time consciously – when I chose the path to a new beginning. Where? Where communication is done less through words and much more through feelings and emotions, in a better world

In a world where freedom and dignity are the supreme values ​​of the illusory passage here, on earth.

In a world in which “to be” and “to exist” is combined so differently!

Conscious, unconscious, a closed door, another open – linked to an agenda that expects emotions and feelings transcribed. Good road, Good Man! I don’t even know your name and I don’t think I need to know it. I know your gaze, the warm and wise smile, the arm that greets me respectfully … and the agenda that is still waiting on my desk. And I know something else: a gate is waiting for you to close it … so what can I say? Please do!

Although I know my name, it remains to discover who I am.

Beyond features, beyond names, beyond fingerprints. It remains to discover my meaning, purpose and purpose. The agenda is on the desk … waiting to be completed with unanswered answers and experiences. So, I have one more question for my consciously closed gate: in what language did you communicate with the neighboring gate that you understood so well?

If you want to read more about life and closed doors click here.

Author: Mioara Borza


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