DALET: When i was young i dreamed of doors and windows of all different kinds.
Dreams of doors in black and white,
often in color
fuzzy and clear
seemingly saturated, and over-pixilated.
Most of the time i was outside, observing…
In other dreams i was inside looking out beveled door glass as the world went by outside.
Some were like castle doors,
some ornate doubles,
others like hall doors neatly in a short row,
or a simple entrance with side lights.
There was, though, a consistent door.
It was cut so small
in the wall,
it was lonely looking, but yet,
i could smell wildflowers at the threshold.
i liked the way the wood felt under my hands. It had beautiful carved medallions cut-in at the middle head, and high on the left and right jambs.
i often knew the door, but couldn’t think how i knew the door, or what it meant.
Sometimes in the dreams i would just stand in front of that humble little door, with its smell of wildflowers, feeling the ground under my feet. i had the idea there was a garden on the other side, but didn’t know how to enter.
There was no knob to pivot, and no hinges to swing.
i would often wake up with the smell of wildflowers still in my nose,
wondering what sort of strange dream that was…”
* * * *
What Lies Beyond The Door
by Jean Louis Mondon
While I was still dreaming
Contemplating the blushing dawn,
My Father, the Master Gardener
Drawing me from my sleep
Invited me to step beyond,
The threshold into the deep.
With a Word of his mouth
and a twinkle in his eye,
Come with me to my garden…
We will stroll down the path
where the cool breeze
Exhales its subtle perfume
Splashing the light
Dispersed in diaphanous tones.
Together we will rejoice walking
On this earth, your temporary home
My good and beautiful creation
Behold, the most exquisite flower
One that grows toward the sun
Of a matchless love
In Jesus Christ my beloved Son
The soft warmth of the rays
Emanating from his eyes
Filled with mercy and compassion
Calls the humble and contrite at heart
Even the most broken: “Come and rest in me.”
Its fragile beauty will never fade
But dying, bears lasting fruit in its season
For the spring of life that feeds her
Never, ever runs dry.