The Year of the Door


And, just like that, the old year ends and the new one begins. What is time? What is past and future? The heart opens, further and further. We evolve. We grow. The old year ends and the new one begins. It has come at a perfect time.

This past year, the year of 2016, has been my “year of the door.” Why have I called it that? Dear friends, let me share with you the story.

As you read this story, may it be a blessing unto you. May you find strength in the message contained within it. May you find peace, joy, and many beautiful awakenings in 2017. May it be your best year yet!



imagesIt has been a few weeks on the island. My life has become a sort of nightmarish mushroom trip—one ghoulish thing after another. A man tries to rape me. A friend hacks my email. I can’t find clients. I’m already dreaming of plane tickets again. I’m dreaming of Ohio and England, or Timbuktu—anywhere but here.

As it turns out, my long-dreamed-of paradise is really the Bermuda Triangle. My hope is really my defeat. I feel ashamed and exhausted. My health is flagging. Enough tears every night to fill bathtubs. I am marooned, on the island that was my dream.

I so regret coming here. What could I have been thinking? Why had I leap so quickly? Why had I heard the voice of God in the ocean and then, later, in the moon? Where is my lover, my housemate of two years? I miss his dark hair against the pillow. I miss his cooking and the way he’d serve me, grinning. I miss myself.

This evening, my heart necklace falls from the wall, red and green glass shattering. I don’t have glue.

This evening, my computer breaks. The screen begins to vibrate and turn pink. I no longer see words clearly. I don’t have money to fix it.

And, this evening, it’s a night full of nightmares. Tossing, sweating, utterly spoiled sleep. In the morning, my hands cannot even find Reiki. There’s no comfort anywhere. The lizards on the windowsill glare at me, and there are no angels beside my bed anymore. No friends. No neighbors. No teachers. No plans. No hopes. No lovers. No love. Nothing but thick, dank heat, and the lifeless buzz of my lifeless heart. I lay there for hours, well into the afternoon. I have never been so tired in my life. Exhaustion is all I know. All I can see is my childhood, replaying again and again in my mind. I have never left that blue bedroom on Erben street; I will always be in misery.

Finally, I pull my body from the bed. Finally, my sore feet, pulling slowly across the dusty tile, as I make my way. My plan is to leave the house through the backdoor, and climb up to the porch I share with the lonely professor. It’s a beautiful porch, enclosed by palms, endless green, and the faint sound of ocean waves from only a few miles away. The porch is the best part about this house. And I want to go there to meditate. Right now. Shit is hitting the fan, life is falling apart…but, at least I can still meditate, I think. At least I can still do that.

Yes, here is the exit. I am getting closer now. Here is the heavy exit: the set of double doors, wood and glass, that separate in from out, that take me from here to there. Dusty doors, scuffed from decades of neglect. The lonely professor has better things to do. Everything is falling apart.

Here are the doors. And so I pull, as usual. I pull again. Nothing. Nothing? I don’t understand. My grip on the knob tightens: pull, pull, pull. Harder and harder. Nothing. They won’t budge. What?? Maybe I forgot; maybe I’m supposed to push. So, I push. I push more. Nothing. I check the locks. They aren’t locked, but the door is solidly and perfectly shut. My mind cycles through explanations: Did he—stupid landlord—finally go crazy and lock me in? Is this some trick, some joke? Breath and heartbeat, breath and heartbeat: faster, faster. A strange panic begins inside my skin, and teeth are in there, gnawing at my lungs. Now, more than ever, I just want to fucking get out! I want to go meditate! I want out of this musty fucking house, out into the open beautiful air! A feeling of lunacy takes me. I think, Oh my God, I am trapped. I am trapped here. I can’t get out. I can’t get off this island and I can’t even get out this door!

Then, through the swirling of thoughts, something catches my eye. A brief flash of pink, through the glass of the door. Pink flowers. Luscious and warm. Hibiscus. They call to me. They smile. Huge flowers, as big as my face, bursting brighter from recent morning jungle rains. Pink, with a touch of yellow in their center.

A feeling flashes; a sudden understanding.

This door…this door…this door: it is the prison of my mind! I have imprisoned myself with these thoughts!

And I begin to laugh…!

This laughter is the laughter of God, the laughter of you and me and everyone and everything who helps us forget and then remember. I laugh and laugh, bending at the knees and closing my eyes. It is the laughter of Rumi, when he fell to the ground, after he meeting his love. It is the laughter of kings, when they see their daughters born. It is the laughter of squirrels on the first day of spring. It is God peeking through me; it is God sensing through me. My body relaxes. All tension drops. I shake my head, blinking, in total ecstasy. What luck! What fate! I have made all this! I stop struggling with the door. In relief, I lean my head against the glass, and all the pink in my vision intensifies. I don’t know there is a name for these flowers…I don’t know anything. My head is emptied of thoughts. I am completely awake.

I stand there for not sure how long. I stand there twelve lifetimes.

When I remember again that I have a body and that maybe I could go somewhere, I try the knob again, without thinking.

It opens effortlessly.


If you enjoyed this, you might also enjoy Anya’s book, Opening Love.
Or, for a closer encounter, contact Anya today to schedule a spiritual guidance or relationship coaching session via phone or Skype.


One thought on “The Year of the Door

  1. Pingback: Meeting Matt Kahn, Teacher of my Heart |

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