Zimbabwe: The Blame Game

22. Doors

157 22 Doors t’s like you have been walking, moving. It seems in a maze of rooms, getting through passages, doors. You don’t see any windows. You don’t know whether it is darkness or light that surrounds you. It sometimes seems you were walking in a road, a strip road, a path but with doors. You didn’t know where you were going but you couldn’t stop. Sometimes you would feel as if you were walking in a road spiked with nails, but you don’t feel any pain but the idea of pain. You are pain itself, so you can’t feel yourself. Sometimes you feel you have been walking in a tunnel, underground, somewhere down there, but not upwards. You are walking through doors down there. You know you can feel it, you know you are seeing a particular door. It’s ahead of you. It has an inscription, “this is it.” You move closer and closer to this door. You take hold of the handle. You are about to open it. You are now opening it, you are opening it... I was just thinking of a door, the idea of opening doors. A door you don’t know what’s lying behind it. A door that might change your life permanently, profoundly, it’s a door that you know you have to get a good feel of its handle. The idea of the police detective in a crime film opening a door, in the chase of, or looking for a crime doer, who might be waiting for this police officer, behind the door, with a loaded gun. This offers another look at what that door could represent. It might be the door to the outside, to the backyard lawn, beautiful garden, and beautiful pool. It might be the door to another door, further ahead, and the idea of opening one door after another and another...it is a perpetuating feeling. It might be a door you may never be able to open. It might be a locked door. It might require breaking into. This defeats the whole image of a door. It lets that which is behind the door to take another form, posture, to disappear, to ruffle things a little, and to even change them. It is a door. It might be a door into the very insides of things, feelings, lives, I 158 worlds; worlds that are so far into the realms beyond the scribble of this pen. This journey, into doors, the path to; it takes or asks for more, much more. It asks that you be fully there, to walk with your full weight, full feet, and full belief in the journey. To walk with the full will to open these doors and, to keep getting inside and outside of the doors. This journey doesn’t require force, physical force but an inside will, a propelling will, a believing will, a questioning consciousness. It requires a great maturity, emotional maturity. It builds great emotional maturity. I like to open doors; new doors, than closing doors, old doors. New doors propose something exciting. Closing doors is a hard take. It’s either when you close a door you close yourself inside or outside the door. Closing yourself inside a door could equate to closing yourself in a personal prison, sometimes without the wherewithal to get outside. It makes you feel so caged, like you are in a prison. Closing yourself inside doors becomes a problem here, a big problem, when you know you won’t get outside of those closed cells, of your own making. Failing to find answers, solutions to questions and problems is a headache, especially to problems that won’t let you alone. But of course, closing yourself inside doors sometimes makes you feel so safe, secure, ensconced, protected. Closing myself outside doors tend to make me feel liberated. I feel I would rather stay outside closed doors, explore the outside world. It is a horizon world. The only problem might be that I know that I might not go back, inside the door, which I have just closed. Even though I know there is not much to be got by going back, the impossibility of it all is an idea world. This idea is an idea.... Ideas are like doors, are another thing that amazes me. They open up like doors. You have to open them, pursue them, and own them, if you can. The more...