The Two Doors

In the darkness of a dream,

In a crowd of strangers,

Two doors emerged.

In the void of a sleeping mind,

No walls to anchor them—unconfined.

The gateways stood tall, all alone,

An invitation to the great unknown.

Opposing each other,

One stood facing the west—

Stars in the night sky,

The shutting of the sun’s eye.

The other stood on the eastern edge,

The horizon dark, barely aglow,

A forgotten promise we intuitively know,

Always, tomorrow, the sun will show.

Trying to break free of the crowd,

I stepped to the side,

And stared at the two mysterious doors.

When suddenly,

In one synchronous movement,

Everyone turned to face the west.

Cautiously, I walked to the horizon’s edge,

Studying the western door.

Carved in stone, images from my youth—

It was the door of What Has Already Been,

The immutable past, already penned,

The wounding of the child—

Impossible to defend,

So many memories, together they blend,

A longing for the heart to mend,

The wounded soul still left to tend.

On the doorway above,

A message, a reminder:

What Has Already Been cannot be undone.

Don’t fight the past—thar war cannot be won.

There is no life for you here, nothing—none.

So put it to rest now with the setting sun

And embrace your future and what is to come.

For you, there is another path—

A destined one.

Tentatively, my hand drifted over the door.

As I felt the engraving,

A tension surged,

Forgotten memories long submerged

In the recesses of my mind—

Emotions emerged:

The Magical Child before the illusion was clear,

The Seeker who explored the end of every pier,

The Lover whose heart he allowed to steer,        

The Prophet who felt the spirit, a seer,   

The Artist and Poet before they knew what was queer,

The Eden of Essence before the onset of fear.

BANG!

Lost in my reverie a shot rang out!

And as I turned to the crowd,

I saw Death was about.

There he lay—

Naked, on solid ground,

The crowd of strangers gathered round,

Shocked in silence, there was no sound.

He seemed familiar, lest my mind confound,

Somehow, he was me—

Our fates were bound.

He was strong and powerful—

Now a lifeless mound.

Once raw and primal—

His energy drowned.

The oppression of self—

A death profound.

I knelt beside him,

His light, now dim,

The parts we lose

When we fail to fuse

The entirety of ourselves and in lieu we choose

To live another’s life—

But at the cost of who’s?

The crowd of strangers then gradually parted,

And I saw the doorway to the east.

Now at last,

Letting go of the past,

I moved toward the horizon—

Limitless and vast.

I approached to get a closer view

Of the eastern door—its mysterious hue.

It was the door of What Could One Day Be,

Carved from the wood of the Dreamer’s Tree,

All the child’s hopes, wild and free,

The heart’s purest desire—its deepest plea,

The soul’s whispered prayer on bended knee,

An unwritten future no one could see,

But to unlock the door,

I needed a key.

Again, I placed my hand on the door,

An energy emerged just as before—

A vision that struck me to the core.

On a platform in the Netherlands,

I said goodbye to my old friends,

And boarded the departing train.

Though deceased,

My friend’s father accompanied me,

The wisdom of elders, the ancestral tree,

A divine guiding force—le saint-esprit.

Too late did I realize,

I had the wrong passport,

Surely the adventure would be cut short,

But instead of helping me, my escort

Insisted we continue, he did exhort:

The destination matters not,

It’s on the journey where you’ll be taught,

The insight that cannot be bought.

Forget the identity, the image you thought

Would bring you happiness and all that you sought.

Can’t you see that it has not?

Embrace the parts that you have fought,

For each serves a purpose in a grander plot,

Both shadow and light play a part,

Tied together in a single knot.

From the train, we alighted in the city of Rotterdam,

Descended underground into a magical museum,

And entered a world beyond time, no program.

The ground dissolved,

I soared into the air,

Lifted up like a feather—

A silent prayer.

Transcendence in the cosmos where the air is rare,

I realized I was naked and bare,

Yet in circles, I flew without a care,

Longing forever to stay free up there.

Then he joined me.

Floating beside me he grasped my hand—

Worn and warm,

A past-life lover in a different form,

My soulmate—a connection deeply formed,

Pure ecstasy in my veins—I transformed.

He anchored my soul and I felt at home.

A peace took over me—pure shalom.

I pulled my hand off from the door,

And the vision faded, like the days of yore,

But I knew of the love they sing about in lore,

And I had seen the beauty of heaven’s shore.

I grasped the handle, but it was locked.

Something inside me still was blocked.

I turned to see the strangers flocked,

Around me they stood, now unrobed,

Unable to hide, they were all exposed.

From their necks I saw the chains,

Each had a piece of broken remains,

The fractured key from past torments and pains.

I approached the first stranger,

And looked at him in the face,

Staring closely into his eyes, I could see a trace—

The Magical Child that time had effaced.

He took my hand, and in my palm, he did place,

The fragment on the chain—pure grace.

Then he pulled me into a deep embrace,

And fading with time, he disappeared into space.

One by one,

The strangers came forth,

And I saw in their eyes all the parts of myself.

The Dreamer and the Teacher,

The Saboteur and the Seeker,

The Hero and the Victim,

The Prostitute and the Prophet,

All once suppressed—

At long last uncovered,

And for a brief, subtle moment,

Before me they hovered,

Revealing a fragment of the key—

Now recovered.

And in the light of their eyes,

It was their hearts I discovered.

The many facets of myself, long ignored,

Together, finally as one accord,

The shattered key, at last restored,

The diminished note resolved—the major chord.

Though alone in the dreamscape,

I was integrated and whole—

Wild and untamed,

All the parts of my soul.

Turning, I walked steadily toward:

The sunrise in the east,

To the grand encore,

To the renaissance which lay,

Behind the promised door.

Dane Dowell

March 9, 2025