The Glass Door

By
More by this author
She sprints out the open door, knowing she is capable of accomplishing so much more than what her shadowed past has permitted her to possess. She takes one last look to the sides, but she can never look back. She cannot love what she has left.


She does not know what is ahead, but she knows it is better than this. She has been led to believe correctly, but she cannot wait for this room, this empty space so full of doubt and restraint, to catch up. She knows she must go forth boldly toward the light. She is confident she will have the support she needs; she will be all right.


Her surroundings have entangled her since the day that she was born, but she is free of them, must be free of them! May captivity be no more! No longer can she bear them now that she has seen the light. How much she wishes they would come, too, but if they refuse, what fault is it of hers? It is none, and finally, she is aware that if they will not come, it is their choice. Pained is she at this? Perhaps, but she knows what she must do and is far too happy with her choice and the blessings it will bring to ever allow such microscopic strife to dominate her bliss. It is not that such strife is not strongly felt; it is but is not even vaguely vital in comparison to her newfound joy.


She is in the hallway now, and the dark cherry wood surrounds her as she bolts up the stone-hard stairs toward the light she has seen. An invisible presence is pushing her forward; she has no doubt to its existence. Why would she, after all, for it has assisted her so extensively in even reaching this point? As she steps upon the final stair, she acknowledges another door. A large door it is—enormous, one may assert!—and it is opening to her; what reason has she to refuse? She hears footsteps and creaking, but it is too late. She will not turn back, cannot wait, now! She strides through the door with beauty and wisdom beyond her years. Who would have expected this from her?


As soon as she has committed to that step, she realizes how strong she has been made. That ever-present, ever-invisible force is always there, pushing her forward; oh, how it she can feel! She slams the door behind her and denounces that flight, that floor, that basement from which she did come. Instead, squaring her shoulders to the narrow passageway ahead, she glides gracefully ever forward. No reason has she to cease now, after all, for that would be rather pointless. As a human being, she knows she must continue to grow and progress; she is still young and inexperienced, after all, but is always willing to receive instruction. The instruction she desires is not of where she once constantly searched. She has found a less obvious but, well, wiser choice and is never ashamed to admit it.


Finally, she glides toward the glowing glass door, behind which she sees that luminescent beam—yes! This is yet another ray of gold she must seize, and with outstretched arms, she gallops to it, flings open the door, and…is halted! Restricted again is she; no, not again! How could this occur? She thought she was past that, she silently screams, as she lies on the floor, rejected again from her goal. Oh, she has not felt this since she was in that low-lying, filthy, demonic basement room! What on earth is blocking her path?


She lifts up her body, her head, and her mind, and she knows it is the time to attempt once again. Cautiously, never to travel back, she fortifies her mind and heart in preparation for the plunge, then leaps forth yet again! However, alas! she is blocked by an identical substance, but what?


“What is this? Oh, please make my eyes see!” she petitions, and she receives. A gigantic, insurmountable, pearly-white net is prohibiting her access, but why? She views the light; it is there! It is only beyond this wretched barricade.

“Oh, agony! Oh, pain! Where is the error in my ways, that I cannot fly high in the right, as I so vibrantly desire? Why again must I experience such fatal restriction unheard of in so numerous other cases?” she laments, for she cannot fathom her mistake.

“You have none, my child; absent is your fault. I have faith in you, as I know so well of your faith in me, that you can endure and survive this test.” This answer exceeds what she wished to hear, and overwhelmed is she with strength, power, and peace. She waits patiently, stationed on the floor with her tools in her lap, obediently submissive as she forever has remained.


Months pass by patiently, but never as patient as she. Though at times she feels impatient, all the others, encouraging ones, can assist her to grasp her value and success, and lo! She glances back for scarcely an instant and must do a double-take, for how astounding it is how far she has come in such a dwarfish time simply remaining so steadfastly. She smiles, for her response was correct, and lifts herself erect. Poking the net, she recognizes how thin, how frail, how weak it has indubitably become.


With renewed strength and zeal she marches forth but cannot break through as of yet. She takes her restraint in her hands and, in such a turn of events, is devastated to discover it is that old, fowl net from the basement room, the darkness that is blackening more so by the second—how did it ever appear white to her? It was never beneficial to her growth, for it could not comprehend the truth. It was too slow, and now, it must hold her back! It believes she cannot handle the road ahead!


Furiously, she strikes the net, attempting to tear it through! How can she handle this, when everything righteous she has ever been told is begging her to spring forth? She was raised to progress in the direction that was pure, holy, and true, but hypocritically, this net limits her in the perfect work she is destined to carry out, though destiny is not real, though she knows with help she must cause it to become.


Oh, woe! She screams and rips viciously, and the net at last does give. A hole appears in the center and grows as she excitedly watches with glee. She beholds a gap sizable enough for her head, shoulders, and upper torso. Proudly and with confidence, our conqueror juts forth these and gazes around at the beauty that beholds she. The most gorgeous abundance of creation, a paradise for sure, is hers to see and solely scarcely surprised is she at this beauty, for of it she had heard but as of yet had not experienced. Now, she does. The deep, velvety, blood-red roses could not possess more grace, and the sun radiates from the sky, never even considering to cease. The sky as blue as the sea and the trees, the grass, and the vegetation everywhere as desirable as one could imagine simply engulfs everything her eyes do see, but naught could compare to the feeling she holds when residing even partially in such an unbelievable setting, such a remarkable explosion (for understated would it be to term it an emotion). She longs to experience such vibrancy all over, so she pulls herself forth. The gap, as she views, is not quite expansive enough to encompass her hips.


In fact—oh, no!—what could this be? Is she being pulled back? She is! Oh, dear, she is, and how she cannot bear it! Not again, no, not again! The gap closes as with despair she notes that she is back inside. She is limited for yet another time. Oh, disappointment! Oh, injury! Oh, the conclusion of a season so free for scenery of such containment!


Now, the net has transformed to gray, and she is unsure of its meaning. Her own household, for some reason below her, looking at the light, never seeing it, and she cannot believe her eyes when she sees them. Truly, they are the net, and she breaks down and weeps as the glass door seals as well.


“You, too? But why an extra, even to strike me when I am down?” she wails.

“Look up,” comes Wisdom, “and see yourself.”

She brings herself to do so and is amazed by what she beholds: a beautiful young woman of at least nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, perhaps; difficult it is to discern the age of such a youthful but experienced face. “Is that me? It cannot be,” she sniffles, drying her tears. “I am neither so pretty nor so strong.”

“But it is,” Wisdom informs her.

“In the future?”

“No, right now, and gaze, therefore, about you. Realize what a shining beacon you have become; look, you can see through the glass door and even through the net. Do not ever release the hope, but look through the garden to the other side. There you’ll see the lamps you have lit and the positive fires you have certainly sparked.”

She does so, and slowly, the figures come into her sight. Children as she thought she was are waiving to her, grinning, some through tears. She sees one striding forward, and though she wishes she was him, she smiles back, waives, and is happy once again.


She stares at her reflection and sighs at her restraint, but with so much assistance, how can she be afraid? She is not, and she will wait, though for now it causes her to sigh. Hope is more beautiful than short-time pleasure, anyway, and so thankful is she that this has come to light for her. This net, improperly placed is it—oh, so improperly placed!—and it is wrong, yes, but will not live for much longer. She eyes a tiny hole and beams as does that ever-brightening, ever-encouraging sun, knowing full well she must simply accomplish all she can. All beyond that, even the net, that is beyond her control is not of use to fret or to worry about.


Finally, she understands and is not ashamed to speak. With a final sigh, happy this time, she closes her eyes. Presently, she opens them and again takes in her reflection, even better this time. As she does these things, once more, she hears that voice from behind…


“Only two more years, my love; I know it you can make.”





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback