The Mind's Doors

There is a saying that says "whenever one door closes another door opens," or "when one door closes a window is opened."

Usually, we take this saying literally, meaning that when an opportunity has been missed, or closed to us there is always another opportunity around the corner, or a way out of our demise.

But our little brains are also designed this way, full of rooms with doors that are either locked or unlocked. It is said that a great majority of our brain is locked and not even utilised, which is a great mystery. Why is so much of our brain off limits with seemingly no purpose?

Those that have died and come back to tell of it have seen these rooms unlocked and the doors flung open as they pass on. And the ancients have commented upon this idea that our mind has many rooms.

When the Bard was younger he was in an accident and knew that he would die. He saw these rooms as he rushed from his body. And he wanted to stop and go in, rather than being forced past. He wanted to go in, especially to one room that was wonderfully warm and full of people standing around talking and laughing with each other. He glanced in and thought, "these are the kind of people I like and could spend a lot of time with. These are my kind of people."

Then, as he looked he was surprised to see that these were all people he had known and loved. Not everyone he knew and loved was in that particular room, but those who had a special sense of humor and intelligence and love of life. It was a certain type of warm and comfortable person in that room and they seemed to have the Bard in common. This fascinated the Bard, that having only him in common brought them together where they were enjoying each other's company. It looked like a perfect party. And as this Bard was about to pass through the doorway into the party, he was pulled on past rooms and rooms of people and events that he knew.

It didn't matter how briefly the Bard had known a person, or if he had forgotten a trivial event, everything was there along the hallway. It seemed that everything and everyone was in a room with like things and people. Each room was a kind of wonderful filing system. It was like going through an attic where one discovers things they had forgotten all about and wonders why they stopped using it or why they didn't see its value.

And as happens with these near-death experiences in which one rushes through a tunnel (the Bard's was a hallway) and sees a panorama of their life, one must be expelled out to the proverbial light or some other place. The Bard was expelled out into the vast and whispering universe where the stars are born and the silence has a sound of awe. The Bard saw beauty and sadness which no words can describe. And as the Bard gathered his courage to ask for the word, the name, he was abruptly rushed back through the tunnel where he found himself laying upon broken glass with bodies and claws clambering over him because his window was the only way out.

And no one cared about the Bard as he lay in a warped position. No one tried to save him. They cared only for themselves and no one else. He could tell this much and forced himself out onto the autumn grass. He rose and wondered why his companions were so distraught and so helpless, so stunned. He was not. First he wanted to rejoice in gladness, but when he saw that one of their company was missing he contained himself.

He yelled at his companions, wondering why they didn't care, why they left the last one alone. They were afraid even to venture near the place, the world upturned where an empty body could be laying. The Bard climbed back in and said his prayers and begged for mercy as he tugged and pulled, then cried with joy when the body came to and spoke. He pulled upon his companion who was dazed and could barely bring himself to speak. What had happened, what had he seen, what hall had he been down?

The Bard would never know what that last one saw. It must have been amazing. In the days following he said that it was the most amazing experience of his life and that it changed him forever. He told the Bard "thank-you," which made the Bard laugh. How could one be thankful for nearly dying? One of the Bard's other friends also said thank-you and that he felt such an odd presence. What had the Bard done to deserve such gratitude and appreciation from these two? Perhaps, one day he will find out.

And one friend would not look at the Bard after this. One friend despised the Bard, despised herself and said she should have gone to hell. She hated the Bard because the Bard loved her and forgave her. Isn't this the way of the world? We would rather accuse and be accused for our mistakes than be loved and love inspite of them.

In the end, when we all pass by our life, it will be those we have loved and who have loved us through our imperfections that will redeem us. Those who accuse and judge will be accused and judged. But it will be grace that wipes the record clean, not the accuser.

And don't imagine that brown-nosing and having a hundred "close" friends will rack up the grace points. No, only one person will have the branch of grace to extend, and it may be someone we never even noticed.