Jesus said, "I am the door; if anyone enters through Me, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture." (John 10:9)
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�A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that�s unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push.��Ludwig Wittgenstein
�A very little key will open a very heavy door.�
? Charles Dickens, Hunted Down
? Charles Dickens, Hunted Down
�Listen, there�s a hell of a good universe next door: let�s go.��e.e.cummings
Midweek Motif ~ The Door
Moving in or out, in between we have The Door. Once in, whether it is a safe haven or a dungeon the door remains a guard.
Nevertheless the door encourages seeking change by opening it.
It is like a thriller with its �what-lies-beyond� quotient.
Moreover one may be out of doors, be at death�s door, behind closed doors, be on the door, be through the back door; one may even darken someone�s door, keep the wolf from the door and also leave The Door open.
So�Use the motif The Door in your poem today.
The Door
By Miroslav Holub
Go and open the door. Maybe outside there�s a tree, or a wood, a garden, or a magic city.
Go and open the door. Maybe a dog�s rummaging. Maybe you�ll see a face, or an eye, or the picture of a picture.
Go and open the door. If there�s a fog it will clear.
Go and open the door. Even if there�s only the darkness ticking, even if there�s only the hollow wind, even if nothing is there, go and open the door.
At least there�ll be a draught.
The Lockless Door
by Robert Frost
It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I though of the door
With no lock to lock.
I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.
But the knock came again.
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.
Back over the sill
I bade a 'Come in'
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.
So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.
But at last came a knock,
And I though of the door
With no lock to lock.
I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.
But the knock came again.
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.
Back over the sill
I bade a 'Come in'
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.
So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.
Doors
By Carl sandBurg
An open door says, �Come in.�
A shut door says, �Who are you?�
Shadows and ghosts go through shut doors.
If a door is shut and you want it shut,
why open it?
If a door is open and you want it open,
why shut it?
Doors forget but only doors know what it is
doors forget.
By Walter De La Mare
"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
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( Next week Susan�s Midweek Motif will be ~ Unity)
