The Cold Knob

A small note inspired by Beaudelaire and The Doors

There is no simple way out. It is not that the doors are locked, it is just that there are so many of them. They all look alike. Many lead nowhere. Most lead to other doors. And we get tired of doors. They all look alike, don’t they.

Well, some doors are different. They feel different. The doorknob is a tiny bit warmer to the touch. The others are a tiny bit colder. They slightly bite the hand. And then, a pattern emerges. And it suddenly dawns on us. We have known this pattern for as long as we can remember.

The pattern is that of avoidance. Who cares for a bite when they can settle for a warm touch. Pretty soon, we find ourselves reveling in that comfort zone, forfeiting the only choice we are given by design, that of choosing the wrong knob to turn.

Many lead nowhere. Most lead to other doors. But no door leads to hell. None. No need. Hell is hot by all accounts, as are becoming the doorknobs we are holding on to. Every time we touch a warm one, we bring a bit more hell into our lives.

And as warm becomes warmer, we realize it’s been the same handle we’ve been turning the whole time, the warm one, leading to another warm one, which leads to the initial warm one in a never-ending circus.

By the time we realize that maybe, just maybe, the cold knob is an option too, our hands would have become so hot from the knob turning that they stick to the cold brass like a child’s tongue to an ice-cold fence.

A few would still move forward, even at the expense of some square inches of palm skin, a modest price for the immense possibilities lying ahead, out of their comfort zone, and into the cold and the unknown.

And a way out. Who knows…

Plonger au fond du gouffre, Enfer ou Ciel, qu’importe ?
Au fond de l’Inconnu pour trouver du nouveau !

Let the board sound

Rabih