Doorsteps are often underappreciated.
They are only ever trodden on, stepped across, or swept over, meaning
their function may very well be well respected, but
their presence seems to frequently be taken for granted.
When I was younger, that was not yet so.
We weren’t yet rushed travelers, escaping the past and
falling fearfully into the future; instead,
we used to sit down on our doorstep, with
lemonade and rosy cheeks, resting from
our adventure, catching our excited breaths.
We sat there many a time, always for a little while.
The door would be propped open,
exchanging used for fresh air, allowing for
other people to come in and out as well.
That doorstep does not have to lead to your house.
It can also be the elevation of the pavement,
the winding dirt road,
or the sandy, perhaps rocky, shore.
That Porta Sancta can be any
personal, tension-filled threshold between twos,
creating a band in the middle
—a horizon if you will—on which
you can dance, if you like, or
just sit, if you prefer, on which you can remain
merely present, for just a tiny moment.
It is all a matter of stopping the movement,
Looking both ways, and then
taking the next step again
…perhaps a little differently as initially planned.
Happy 2016, folks!