Inside strange doors: Becoming through Breath

Trembling at the slightest gust of wind, intoxication swings open the doors of my
patched, fixed-in-multiple-directions house. I too have become an old house.

What lies behind these doors?

Behind these stores stand doors that never open. On these walls, doors appear in strange, impossible places,yet behind them lies nothing but another a wall. There is nothing to conceal, and still, the doors stand there.The strange doors could merely be a sign of the times. Who knows, maybe in some distant past there could’ve been a way to get into the house—the clear entrance and exit, the shorter way to get out when you’re in a hurry, or the route to avoid conversations with people around you.Why did they put up a wall behind these doors? One open way, one open sky, a cool breeze—why do we let these be trapped by four walls or un necessary doors that remain shut!

We create our own prisons.

A bird creates her own cage; she stays in, and inside that cage she sings a beautiful song. Singing: “Where is my freedom?”
Maybe the freedom lies behind those strange doors.
Freedom is the breath itself, the gust of the cool breeze, the open sky, the open door.

Maybe freedom in love is the substance that does not seem to dissolve in each other.

In the breath breathed since countless years,
in the laughter already laughed,
in the words already spoken,
in the songs already sung,
in the love already shared,
and in the stories already heard—
I add breath upon breath, circling again and again,
leaving the open air right outside the door.

In the years old air, I search for freedom.
In that lifelong breath trapped between these walls,
my true identity is forged.

The heavy clouds that fragment into the sky
slowly flow towards the same ocean.

When that identity breaks, what do I search for?
I believe that could be the reason why we stay inside, stale and coveted by these walls,
adding breath after breath in a belief to create ourselves and our identities—
as seen from these strange doors.