The “plane of being” spoken of in the entry Possibility Relationally Constructed, is host to every variable, known and unknown, influencing a person’s life and providing the context in and through which decisions are made. The movement from plane to plateau (mood, mental framing) to peak (behavioral and/or conscious instantiation) is a sea of probability patterns, guided in no small part by our awareness and the attention we bring to events/variables. What this attention can be seen as is the beginning of a journey, even if that path is a short one resulting in a declaration of love, a protest of frustration, or a shout of anger. A journey need not be long and arduous, filled with demons to slay and dark paths to traverse for it to be meaningful and significant. Each and every moment in our lives is a culmination of a vast number of forces, consciously deliberated and otherwise, and everyone is an opening or door or entrance into yet further experiences.
In the United States version of the show “Being Human” when a person dies and has made peace with something integral to who they were, a door appears. This door is as individualistic as the person it is for and opens to the next realm on their journey. The concept of a door hit me lately for a number of reasons, some clear and others undoubtedly swimming around in my unconscious. Many speak of “a door opening” to new possibilities and of “doors being closed” when potential connections fade, or that wonderful positivist cliche of “when one door closes another opens.” They are the conduit through which others pass to enter our homes and our personal rooms. A door is invariably one of the first things people notice in a house, indeed it could be said that without a door a house ceases to be anything other than a box, a vessel for carrying something locked up and incapable of interacting with the world and people.
The personal nature of the door intrigued me, seemingly inevitable the question came up as to “what would my door look like?” Further, what material would it be made of? Would it be pocked and weathered with age or shiny and new as if it were never used? And what, pray to tell, grasping at the metaphorical linkages to life and journeys and new spaces of growth, would any of this say about my life?
Life is an unending sea of possibilities, of potential waiting within the actual, in other words, it is energy, the term given for the existence of potential movement or change. This within quality may sound backward, for we are often brought up with the notion from parents and teachers that we “have so much potential” waiting to come out, like an assembly line of parts ready to pop into being full tools and creations. This foundational narrative begins from a position of lack however, it assumes we are separated pieces just waiting to be made whole, often in ways, those in power over us decide. When it is considered that without a life already living, an instant of the actual, where would any of the potential come from? We do not have to wait for life to happen to create more out of us, it already is through us and by us. The door of possibility is fairly bulging with all of life welling up inside and out of our bodies/minds. The wood bends and shapes, asking to be used, to be opened, to serve its purpose and give life to that potential as an outgrowth of the current actualized reality of our existence. We have but to knock and it will be opened to us. The universe cannot help but keep on giving and creating, it knows not the path of lack to whole but that of perpetual and continued being-ness, of wholeness to ever more manifestations of wholeness.
There are many ways of attempting to deny this reality, to continue wallowing in the space of waiting to be made whole. Explicitly we put locks on our doors, barricade them with boxes, so nobody and no experience have the opportunity to come hurtling forward full force into our place. Implicitly we stand behind the door, waiting for someone to enter, never realizing our hand is staying firmly on the doorknob and not letting it turn. In either case, we have succumbed to chaos or rigidity, identified so strongly with one mode of being that the door of our lives remains sparkling new, without blemish, believing that if we simply stay the course we won’t be interrupted.
Certainly, a door may appear tarnished and pocked after much use, not so because of abuse but due to communal interaction and the creation of relationships with people and ideas and the experiences of a life given over to deliberate and conscious interruption, a life of responsible seeking, not docile stagnation. A clean door is one having never been opened. One weathered by experience, by the constant slow massage of knuckles knocking, is one that revels in its opportunity to let something new in, to let the wholeness of who we are, expand in connections to greater degrees of life.
What life does your door show? What do people find when they approach? Is it the waiting arms of a person flinging open their door, grounded in their constant life-affirming existence, waiting with pregnant potential to give birth to something new? I certainly can’t answer with a constant affirmative, but I hope and pray that each person with a quaking heart and held breath at such a notion will find it with themselves, as I have found it within me, the power to see life’s constant affirmative and weather the change that is life’s constant expansion.