Endless Inspiration 6
Open an imaginary door. What do you see?
The door is solid metal, without decoration or detail, finished but unadorned. It has a simple handle, a bar of aluminum sticking out and bent at a right angle on the left side about level with my stomach. The handle doesn’t rotate, exists only for leverage, and I use it to pull the door from it’s depressed frame of a similar make. There is a slight resistance, at first, like it is shut from the other side by the force of a vacuum. I apply more force, put my weight into it, and when it gives there is a whoosh of cool air that brushes past me, causing me to shiver involuntarily.
Looking through the open door is like looking through thick, poorly made, or very old, glass. The image is warped, out of proportion, distant, but the cool air blows through it as if it were not a solid wall, as if I could walk through it. The warped image through the apparent wall of glass is velvety black and speckled with lights that sweep and undulate slowly. It reminds me of the sky on a cloudless midnight, of the turbulent sea below a glaring sun. When I reach my hand out to touch the glass, my fingers go numb. It is colder than the breeze, cold as a meat locker, cold as the dead season in the arctic. My heart beats faster, my hands shake. I am underdressed for this, I think. I did not wear the right clothes. But will I ever get another chance? The old man said this was a one-time offer. This is the infomercial from hell.
I am frightened. The first touch numbed my fingers and now I must put my whole body through. I start again with a finger, followed by a hand, then my whole arm. Each time a piece of my body crosses through the woozy, velvet curtain it is like it is removed from my body. My arm is through and I try to wiggle my fingers but cannot feel them, cannot tell if they are moving. I withdraw my arm again. My fingers are like little ice cubes but they are still there, moveable but stiff. Crossing through this curtain is like climbing into a cold pool. It is more difficult one piece at a time. Best to get it over with in one jump. I push the metal door all the way open, take a few steps back to gain some speed, then charge through.
It is exactly like jumping into a cold pool. My chest constricts. I cannot breath. I try to breath anyways and inhale water. I am choking. I am dying.
Then suddenly I am through. It is cold and dark and loud. So loud. I am on my knees. This noise was not on the other side. I cough the water from my lungs but no water comes out. The other side was quiet, calm, but this side is roaring. I look over my shoulder and there is no warped velvet curtain. There is no curtain at all. In it’s place is a spotlight that sweeps side to side. Now to the left, now at me, blinding me, now to the right. I turn back and the spotlight sweeps to either side of me and when the spots fade from my vision I finally discover the source of the noise. There is a crowd below me. This is where the lights came from. It is not a sea, but a sea of people. They are holding glow sticks and lighters and cell phones. They stand below me, packed in tight, screaming, lifting their arms and crying out. I see with the aid of the sweeping spotlight the faces of countless boys and girls, men with children on their shoulders. There are people as far as I can see, the sea spreads to the end of my vision and beyond the horizon, they curve with the earth. I rise from my knees and straighten. I crossed through. I am on a stage. I made it.
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