I stare sadly at the peeling paint. Once upon a time it might have been vibrant but there is no evidence of that, nor evidence of what colour it might have once been. This wooden door before me now screams neglect and I feel in that moment a sense that it was not the only thing abandoned along ago. I feel compelled to run my hands down the paling and as the peeling paint chips fall away, a greying aged naked wood reveals itself.
Suddenly I feel it move with ease and I feel that what lies beyond this old wooden door is beckoning me to step through. What mystery lies beyond this old wooden door? What would I see there? Would I like what I see? I push on the door and though I know I should enter, I feel resistance. What I see, when I open the door is both over and under-whelming. I immediately want to step back through the door, close it and forget all about the sight that beholds me but I feel a pull downwards. My bare feet are rooted In the earth and I am forced to remain here in this place I don’t want to be.
All around me are weeds. They stand tall and I can barely see over them, enough to see that this field is full of them. In the distance is an old wooden barn house and I think about exploring it to see what is in there. I decide not to, not just yet. I feel stuck in this one spot. I look down and see the green viny stems weaving themselves around my ankles, cutting into my skin. I reach down, my fingers intertwining with them for a mere second before I frantically yank them away and I break out of their stronghold, kicking them roughly away from me. I care not to be stuck there any longer.
I take hold of it in clumps and begin to pull it all out.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
Masses of green lay in piles around me. Mountains of viny, leafy stems lie lifeless as if in a grave-site. I feel like those weeds, displaced and dying inside…
I don’t realise in my tirade through it all that I have ripped out a path for myself through the weeds. I feel however that I am beginning to be okay with what I see around. The urge to rip into it slowly subsides. There is too much anyway to tackle. It can all stay here for now. I glance at the old barn house in the distance. It seems to have been better cared for, and welcoming, but I still have no desire to go near it. I don’t feel like I can wade through so much weed to get there.
In my contemplation I feel a sensation, like a tingling in the middle of my bare back and I realise this feeling is familiar, like something I have known before and I allow this sensation to take over. I glance over my shoulder back towards the old door, but it is obstructed, not by the weeds but a shimmering, almost transparent wing. I cannot see the detail only the shimmer as the sun hits them. I am unsure how but they are moving and I like the way this feels. Maybe I can lift, Maybe I could hover above this place. Maybe I can even glide over the sea of weeds towards the house, but despite the newfound sense of freedom I desire to do none of these things. It’s almost as if knowing I can is enough.
I study the foliage around me and realise what I thought were weeds, may just be something else, something more beautiful and as a breeze weaves its way through it carries a scent that lightly tickles my nose. I breathe it in and feel a wonderful calm. As I exhale I look up, realising how small I really am in my surroundings. The tops of the foliage are visible at eye level, as they reach to the sun. They dance in unison with the breeze. It’s then that I see the beautiful pastel purple at the tip and I realise that the scent is coming from this beautiful foliage with the stunning lavender flower. I scan the field taking it all in yet again. No longer do I see a field of weeds, I see a sea of purple as far as the eye can see. I now realise what mystery the old door had wanted to reveal.
Maybe it’s not the barn house I’m supposed to explore, but the vastness of the field that lies between it and me. Maybe it is about remembering who I am, about remembering how small I am and being okay with that. It’s not about going back or onward but just staying put and just being one with this place. Maybe it’s about feeling my own power grow from within, or about realising that it was always there, just waiting for me to acknowledge it. Maybe it’s about all of this and more. I look at the piles of dying stems with now lifeless purple flowers wilting in the sun’s heat. I brush a lone tear from my cheek, that I hadn’t realised had snuck out of my eye. My heart, broken and heavy and my stomach sick from guilt over my carelessness and destruction compel me to whisper an apology, though I know it is not enough.
I know it’s time to go as the door, which I can now see is a gate beckons me and the path towards it is now clear. My wings now rested at my back, still tingle as I follow the path I had created back to the gate. I step through it and I turn one more time to see this place I have found. I promise to return, to just be among the lavender I had once mistaken for weeds, to bath in their beauty and maybe, just maybe visit the old barn house.
I pull the gate shut behind me and step away from it, realising that it is one with the hedge that surrounds it, of vibrant purple flower. I take note of it all, hoping I will remember where to find the door one day soon.