ON GATEWAYS

and right now it comes to mind that perhaps life contains rows and rows of haphazardly-placed gateways. the secret, maybe, lies in realizing that these gates are not there in order to be opened, for they are already open. energies so often spent trying to figure out how to open the gateways, or how to keep them from shutting, or how to leave through gateways already entered, are perhaps better applied to the act of simply walking through these gateways, and having the gall to walk through those that might be harder to squeeze through, or those that are so overgrown with vines and ivy and flowers that the enterer cannot see what lies beyond. the gates are already open, and they always have been, and they always will be. what exists beyond the gateways is entirely pliable in essence because that which exists beyond is entirely subject to the attitude and openness and willingness of the enterer. i've spent too much time thinking about what i fear could exist beyond certain openings, and i've spent too much time worrying about whether or not some of the gateways will slam shut and trap me inside. the truth, maybe, is that each gateway leads to a different portrayal of the same thing. maybe they all just lead to some large open field, and the pathways are interconnected beyond the creaking hinges of the entrances, and that which might be found on the other side is no better or worse when entered into by way of one gateway than it might be when entered into from another. the only wrong choice is to attempt to board up past gateways, for doing so is the equivalent of closing off entrances to places in which you already exist and always will exist, and thus forgetting the manner of the entering. doing so is the equivalent of deeming one path better than another. but who's to judge one tree-lined walkway with a cedar canopy as better than another tree-lined walkway bathed in the leaves of a liquid amber? every route is scenic, so let's enjoy whichever we take: the one nearest and thus most convenient, or the one seemingly most terrifying due to its exceptional darkness, or the one most colorful, or the one towards which the wind seems to blow us. all that is required or asked of us is that we walk, dance, skip, jump, and move our feet; and that we remain open to awe and conscious and contemplative and appropriately respectful as we make our journeys. my path will cross other paths and it will even cross paths that i've already been on, and the wanderer who has traveled for years is no more legitimate than the wanderer who has traveled for only a day or two, for each wanderer might end up in the same clearing at some point, or see the same creatures stroll by and skit away into the brush, and each wanderer is equipped with different rations of food and different amounts of water and different walking-companions and different fondnesses for different paths of the past. and this is how we grow from one-another, and this is how the forests and woods grow around us and alter us permanently in a fluid and ever-shifting way.

let us grow like the trees: up towards the changing sky; accommodating to different feathered beings that might take shelter in our branches; adaptable to the loss of limbs from time-to-time; planted firmly in a soil whose nutrients are not of our own making, but the making of everything else around us; permitting the heavy blows of the wind, and the ax, and the falling limbs of other trees; stooping under the weight of rougher years and reaching again for the sky when we have found a balance amongst our branches that enables us to once again stretch out toward the stars; unsure of what exists above us in the place toward which we grow, but eager to grow on just in case we might find something there that changes the colors of our leaves. and nothing that we grow toward will be regrettable, for it will become a part of us and nourish us, and if it knocks us down or sets fire to our roots, we will either be resilient and overcome such flames, or others will grow stronger due to the light that our inflamed trunks allows to reach the rest of the forest due to the space cleared in the sky by the absence of once-existing limbs that had once blocked out rays of sun from other trees. the individual trees themselves may not be old, but they are all a part of something older than any one part of it: a network of underground root systems that is far more intricate than any one tree will ever be able to comprehend. in this way, the most gnarled tree can be the most beautiful, or the most timid birch can be the most bold, and nothing will ever be the same as it was the day before because no day goes by without some other entity changing or altering the network beneath the earth that stretches for inches, feet, or maybe miles toward the hot core at the heart of the planet.