OPEN AND CLOSED DOORS

The first meeting with you appears to be from yesterday, and yet if feels as if centuries not merely years have passed. Some of the impressions from this period are still fresh in my mind, but some of the memories, after going through the turbulence of my heart, have faded.

         After wading through the stream of youth and crossing the river of adolescence I finally reached the land of manhood, and it was then that I saw you coming down from the mount of alienation. When we came closer my heart was beating wildly, while beads of perspiration glistened on your forehead. Our tongues were mute. On seeing you closely I thought of a house in which secrecy had its abode, its doors and windows shut tightly to guard against intruders; when I looked at myself, I was reminded of that habitation where staleness and retention dwelled, and all of its doors and windows were open to let the fresh air circulate.

         I opened all the doors of my being and invited you in, but your modesty and the uncertainty of your heart became a chain on your feet. After saying "I don't know you. I am so uncertain" you became quiet. I stood silent for a while, and then I moved on.

         While I wandered along my path of loneliness, I met you at every crossroad. Whether it was you or your alter ego is difficult to know. Like the hues of a rainbow, you appeared in many faces around me. At one time I visualized you with long black hair, blue eyes and light skin, while at another time your hair was short, eyes dark and skin brown. Each time I saw you, there were subtle differences in your appearance. There were times that I was struck by your beauty, times that I was mesmerized by your friendly air. Sometimes you smiled at me, while on the other occasions you were quite serious. In each of your appearances I met you enthusiastically; however, the walls of formality stood firmly in the way. Many times you looked dubiously at me, wondering how I could keep so many doors of my being open to you, a behaviour that seemed so alien.

         The sun of time continued to shine, and the ice of our relationship slowly began to melt. One afternoon we sat on the bank of a river for hours. You asked me many questions, and I told you the story of my past. You listened attentively as if analyzing each situation, and when I tried to reach the depths of your soul, you unlocked a couple of windows but kept the other entrances tightly shut. On each door that I came to, "Wait" was inscribed, and I returned smiling. Circumstances allowed me to meet your alter egos, and you perhaps met my alter egos. Separation, proceeded by intimacy, followed the pattern of lunar cycles.

         One evening you accepted the invitation to come to my home. You came toward me like a young frightened child who wades hesitantly into a cold pond. I offered you a glass of wine, but you insisted on a cup of tea, leery that the wine would open a few more windows and doors. You didn't stay long. I could not tell for sure if you really did not wish to stay, or if traditions, like a magnet, pulled you away from me. Without crossing the river of circumstances I could not reach you, so I, along with my alter egos swam the current of a changing tide hopeful that an unexpected change in force would bring us together.

         Many suns rose and set; many moons appeared and disappeared, and like the changing face of the moon, you appeared to me. Then one night you discarded the veils of shame and modesty, and walking confidently, you entered through one door of my existence. We embraced in such a way that it was as if we had waited for that moment since the beginning of time. We touched, tasted and felt each other, and in the mirrors of one another's experiences we tried to make up our own beings. You opened a door of your being, and after entering through a door of my being, closed that door from inside. That night we were so intoxicated with each other's nearness that neither of us mentioned our alter egos. Before you left you tried to shut the other doors of my being, but you did not succeed.

         You came again the following week, but your inner as well as outer person had changed. The colour of your skin, expressions of your face, and your emotional reactions were all different. I could not determine if it was you or one of your alter egos that had come to see me; I was however aware that this person had entered through a different door, and she too tried to close various doors, and I had to smile.

         I kept on trying to open more doors and see more of your personality, while you went on closing the remaining entrances to my being. Many delicate moments came and went during these encounters; there were good times and there were bad. Some meetings tasted nectar, others bitter like gall.

         One night, the moon had hidden itself behind the clouds, which spread themselves like mascara on the sky; it rained like an outburst of tears. We took each other in our arms to avert the chill of the evening air when suddenly the telephone rang. It was your alter ego. I was speechless. Neither could I say anything to her, nor could I speak to you. We hadn't yet come out of that storm when someone interrupted and knocked at yet another door. I didn't answer, but she had a key and unlocked the door. I found the two of you very similar, you both looked at one another with great intensity, and then back at me, ruminating. Suddenly you reached for a dagger tucked under the pillow and struck me in the back. The blow rendered me unconscious. I don't recall how long I remained in that state but do remember awakening to the soothing caress of your hand. One alter ego tenderly dressed my wounds while the other tore them open again. I could not determine which of the two you were, the healer, or the assassin. My whole being ached. You had embedded the dagger in such a place that I could have been left impotent forever; whether it was good luck or bad, I recovered. I wondered then how you and your alter ego really felt about me and my alter ego.

         The framed pink heart in my room turned scarlet.

         Springs turned into summers and many autumns embraced winters while we tried to loosen the knots of our relationship, our fingers bleeding in the process. The stronger our feelings became, the more our relations seemed like double-edged swords. The harder we tried to resolve our differences, the more entangled they became. At one point it felt as if I, you, my alter egos, and your alter egos were all members of the same family. Our pains and pleasures, our griefs and joys seemed to poison our relationship drop by drop, and our prejudices rode our beings like ghosts.

         As time progressed our fingers lost their sharp talons, and yet our disputes became only worse. Our mutual bonds seemed to weaken, and were swept away by the torrents of jealousy and antagonism. Not only did the flowers lose their colours, but their thorns became more pronounced, stinging as the seasons changed.

         One night you came to me raging in anger, you opened a new door, and closed all other doors behind which your alter egos stood. You threatened me with the termination of our relationship and then stormed out of my home. In the process of trying to close the doors of my being, many doors of your being opened, and the few glimpses that I could catch were enough to amaze me. It seemed that in the pursuit of one of my alter egos you had once again climbed the mount of alienation so that you might descend into the valley of affection for another being. All of your alter egos stood stunned behind each and every door.

         In my room I looked at the framed heart which was changing its colour from scarlet to dark brown; I heard the mourning cry of blackening roses.

         Centuries lapsed, and our sighs of anguish were voiced. It was then that you presented me with two alternatives: either you wanted to keep open only the doors to friendship, or you insisted on closing all other doors if you were to remain emotionally involved in the relationship. I demanded that all of the doors remain open.

         Neither could we agree nor disagree and the train of time continued to click along its track. It stopped and started at various junctions allowing passengers to mount and dismount, while we never seemed to reach our destination. In all this time the bitterness toward each other increased and then subsided while we went on lamenting the fogging of the mirrors of our souls. It seemed as if you could never really get to know me completely, nor could I discover the mystery of your being. We both turned back halfway.

         Today I feel the palpitations of my heart, uncertain if they have been provoked by fear or anticipation. Your eyes on the other hand twinkle like stars, a reflection that we could go beyond the halfway point. The moon of hope and the sun of experience shall be our guides.

         The frame in my room is now blank; it awaits some eternal inscription.