The Closed Door

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The Closed Door

The moon had waxed and waned and time had slipped away down to the ocean and my leaving you has been a great liberation.

And yet the day came when I missed you so much and I wanted you to know, so I wrote and told you.

And there was a softness in your response that en-couraged me to come to your door unannounced, such was the yearning in me to see you, hear your voice, inhale you and perhaps steal a hug, just one more time.

I so wanted to have you in the bed that was ours one more time, but this was not my intention, not this time.

We had spoken of how cruel and hard endings can be when a depth of sharing is suddenly no longer there.  The co-experiences of pain and beauty are now felt alone.

So I came with some herb teas as an excuse to drop by, an attempt to blur the boundaries of what we had and what we no longer have.  A peace offering that said:

‘You had no ideas when we spoke of how we might become friends and I thought that perhaps friends just drop by sometimes with little gifts.’

And so I came.

And when I arrived at your home, that was never really mine, and I saw your car outside, my heart began beating and fluttering in my chest; there was fear and excitement.

I climbed the steps with wobbly legs that led me to your door and I knocked as casually as I knew how to.

And I was met with silence.

I waited before knocking again, this time a little louder.

And the silence deafened me while my heart thudded.

My phone vibrated in my pocket and it was a message from you.

You texted me!

While I stood outside your door you texted me.

Your reasons for remaining behind the door were paper thin and I responded politely doing my best to hide the gentle surge of rejection washing over me and I placed the herbs on your doorstep and left.

Thank you my love.  Thank you for this beautiful reminder of why I had to leave you.

For though you tried so hard, though we both tried so hard, you could never really open the door of your heart to me.

For too long I had stood on your steps pleading and shouting and crying and begging for you to let me in.

But it was not to be.  This was not to be our destiny.  The more I wanted it the more bolts were drawn across your door.

Your gift to me was to remind me again and again, whenever I forgot, that the door to love, peace and union opens inwards.

Every rejection you gifted me was an invitation to step in to myself.

Though the pull and the yearning to hold and be held can be so strong I will practise holding myself again tonight and the peace that becomes more and more familiar will descend; this time a little more deeply than before.

Thank you.  Thank you for not opening your door to me. Though I still miss you, the door to my own heart is now open a little wider and as I keep stepping in, my missing you fades.

And I am grateful for the gift and the blessing of the closed door.

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