We’re born with one door that’s open to the world.
And by parlaying curiosity into experience, we fold more rooms into our selves. More rooms, with more doors, so the wind might howl through, occasionally reshuffling the blueprints themselves.
But then, it happens.
A resistance steals in, quietly. Closing the doors.
And the effort to open them—or to remember they were closed—becomes a blockade.
We shrink. Get rooted in.
And the wind?
It might rattle some panes, before moving on.
But not his, she thinks.
Not him.
He’s young because he's kept the doors open.
She goes in.
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Another 100 Words can be found here.
3 comments:
I fear way too many of my doors are closed
I love this.
"We’re born with one door that’s open to the world"
Babies aren't born with a religion, or with the concept of race or nation. All they know is people. And then, slowly, society teaches them that those other people are different. And that their team is the "good" team.
It sucks.
Charles, not too late to open a few.
Paul, I think you've been as waylaid by politics lately as I've been.
It does suck. I still believe in MLK's line about the arc of the moral universe being long, but bending toward justice. But it's hard to remain optimistic out there some days.
I'm glad you liked this one. Thanks for visiting.
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