Doors

Few people have time to think about the society where they live. We work too much. Watch television too much. Drink too much. Socializing only with those who share our faith, our vision of the world or financial position. An intelligent animal who refuses to see beyond their door. 

Doors, actually, were my thoughts when walking to the dentist. In an era of a pandemic, I did not cross with many people. However, I could silently observe the doors. Wondering around Chiswick, a middle-class neighbourhood where once some artist and intellectuals came to reclusion and contact to nature or show their work for an affluent middle class. It was in Chiswick in September 1944 a V-2 rocket was launched from Wassenaar in Holland landed in Staveley Road killing three people and injuring nineteen. The state was transformed after the war people moved here and have been living in a close community since then. It was the doors around that captured my imagination and lead me to analyze how doors and people are, sometimes, a reflection of each other. 

Some doors are always open, yellow doors so vivid and happy. They welcome the beggar and the politician, the unknown neighbour and the friend with the same warmth and pleasure. Some doors are on the opposite side and were always closed. They refuse to let others come in, keeping their secrets, sadness and fears well-guarded far from other eyes. They are red doors, doors built on blood and indifference.

There are doors. Black doors that be different in some way fight desperately to fit in. They want to be accepted, so they change themselves to look more like the others. Maybe the group pressure or the group prejudices made them like that. Who knows? There are authoritarian doors, grey in colour but with some red around. Those doors who think they have all the answers, rights working like a siege to allow inside only who is equal or a potential door opening. 

Many doors are just quiet, white doors mesmerizing doors. They don’t want the attention other doors have. They prefer the anonymity, be forgotten behind the tree and the bush never showing off, never being rude as well. Those doors are precious, behind them is possible to find love and enlighten, hope and success, but there aren’t many like that around.

Doors that try to appease, the blue doors that are more like snakes. It’s interesting how those doors have wet eyes, opening in a sound like weening or crying. They are a door that let people enter but not welcoming — doors feeding on other weakness through their pretence goodness. Dangerous doors, they can make you feel sad or transform others life insidiously pretending to agree when in fact they are trying to impose.  

Don’t forget the rude doors; green, pallid, always ready to sarcasm and bad jokes. Those doors don’t accept what they are and are still attacking who try to passe through them. Warlike, unhappy, unsatisfied, and above all hidden their true nature behind the glaze of fashion and a false wealthiness.

I could talk about other doors. Pink, purple or grey doors were less common and much more challenging to observe. However, the grey doors guard the entrance of a cave, a place where wonders and dangers are always present. The grey door makes it hard to hear the laugh or tears inside, and only sometimes, when they open, a glimpse of their real nature is exposed. 

Doors and humans, how similar they can be. How many of us close doors, hide your little world of certainty behind colour, pretences and fears. We should, from time to time, walking in our neighbourhood and analyse the doors we can see. Maybe, when doing that, the courage to dive deep inside ourselves, exploring our life and choices and what kind the door we are would help in our path to grow and peace. 

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