The hallway is tight,
dimly lit as if
I am venturing into a dream…
something that is of the is
and of the is not.
The walls look concrete,
but there is warmth at my touch,
it carries an organic feel
that speaks to me of something
The air moves around me
and I feel
the open breath of a passage.
Am I the swallower?
Or am I the swallowed?
It all comes to an end
in a few feet of darkness.
I grasp the latch
hinged on the possibility
of the other side. I twist.
Push through the change
and the door swings,
opening to a looming hole
that runs ahead
to dim into a dark nothingness.
Anticipation and energy swell…
Time, to play…
Stepping into the advanced expanse
of a broken dance,
the exhausted love of lost romance,
I delve into the abundant possibility of I.
The question: where do I go from here?
enters my thoughts
and is immediately parried away
with the playful childish laughter of mocking
stupidity arriving with an answer,
for I can already see the directions.
and steeped into the limitlessness
of the everywhere.
And it is, everywhere…
And everything is, possible…
And it is all real…
all true, and all good
and GODDAMN THIS IS GOING TO BE FUN!
When the question enters the now moment
I don’t search for directions any longer
but for a stopping point
on the revolving roulette wheel of destinations.
For so many are arriving and none are ending.
I hear the low squeal of blockage and finality,
as the door behind me slams with a great boom-click.
At that same moment the echo
from the deep darkness ahead of me
comes with the sound
a thousand by a thousand and one latches releasing
doors to cracking open. The squeal and moan are
by hinges that have not been used.
They echo throughout the labyrinth
as something new being born.
Each is opportunity
that reveals other doors,
other paths, hallways and mazes,
spilling light and dark, colored shades,
sounds from the outdoors,
conversations of life
spill with laughter and arguments of all kinds.
I listen at the opportunities opening,
the sounds bringing images of sand
broken waves crashing with the screech of gulls.
Others scream into the open air and still
with the closed droning ohm
of library and museum knowledge.
There is playful adult cooing
from behind some doors
of bedrooms bloom with the scent of
urging a body to respond.
The air breaks from somewhere and with it
odors of the future come spilling out.
It scent sweetened with the culmination of everything.
I am aware of the door behind me.
Aware of where it leads,
and what is on the other side
I am aware it is unlocked and welcoming
and I smile, because back is not forward.
Without effort or thought
I take my first steps into the future matrix
of the never-ending where I will live,
and where I will thrive.