If I Am A Closet
In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between them, there are doors. — William Blake
If my life is a closet, I have my values stacked on one side, and my dreams stored in old hat boxes lined across the top. My fears hang in clear plastic bags, and my shoes sit waiting; they are the energy that carries me when I want to run away from where I am. The people I love are stacked like sweaters, they keep me warm on my coldest nights. And misery and heartache are those clothes that do not fit, and hang in dire need of repair. They need to be removed, but I might need them one day, I am told, so they hang there taking up space, reminding me how difficult life can be. I walk in and out of my closet every day, and I see myself neatly arranged. On any given day, I feel somewhat boxed in by all that clutters my life, and yet, my gaze looks up at all that makes me want to reach or climb to the top shelf to retrieve what has been boxed away, in lieu of what stares at me each and every day from clear plastic bags filled with toxic fear.
Sometimes other people enter my closet and try to rearrange me. They reach for things and want me to throw things out. It makes me uncomfortable when they move things without asking. It is my closet. I guess I should keep the door shut, but I like the fresh air. So, in some ways, its being open might look like an invitation to come in, even when the invitation has not been extended. Is it not possible to leave the door open, and trust others to respect my space? I can’t count on it. My values lined and stacked against the wall are touched and ridiculed by unwelcome guests. I find myself constantly having to clean up the mess they leave as I put all back in order. Even with this inconvenience, my closet is certain. It is where I find myself, authentic and sure.
As of late, some strangers have been coming into my closet uninvited. They throw my values down, and stack up theirs. They bring in their old, worn out fears, and hang them in my closet. They kick my boxes of dreams, and add sweaters I have never seen to my stack. It is all making me feel quite uncomfortable. It is frightening that my closet is even being targeted. I am not a church or a courthouse, is it not an expectation that my closet contains my stuff? It just seems that my closet seems organized, in a way that pleases me. I think other people should work on their own closets, instead of trying to influence mine.
Strangely enough, I walked into my closet, and someone had been there. I call this trespassing. Leaning in the corner was a gun. I do not own a gun. I do not want a gun. Why is someone putting a gun in my closet? Do I not have the right to keep my peace in my own way? Do I not have the right to shoot without a gun? Who is trampling on me and invading my boundaries?
One week later, I walked into my closet, someone had put in a window. A window looking into my closet. Can you imagine? Surveillance, I assume. What happened to the day that I was free to think, to speak, and to be me without people disrespecting my space with stuff from their own closets? If we have no authority over our spaces, are we not just another artificially intelligent, pre-programmed box full of a developer’s whims? Political or otherwise. I like freestyle sans algorithms, and you?
I miss my closet, safe and certain. I like the way I organize it. Yes, maybe fewer fears, and more dreams. To be explicit, more American Dreams out of the pipeline and into reality. But, hey, why not? But I am weary of the evening visitor lurking in my space. I don’t want a wall, just freedom, to leave my door open. I want to come and go as I please, and know that when I return, I am not inundated with someone else’s baggage. If we all just honor our different decor and our unique stuff, we might just love what we find. I don’t need a window to my soul or a gun that ends chances at opening doors. I want to return to myself in my closet, and feel at home, patriotic, and spiritual with my cozy sweaters and my favorite boots. Nothing fake, no untruths. Just an arrangement of me. In a world of yous. Living in peace beneath the moon and the sprinkle of stars.
If my life is a closet and yours is too, come out, but go in, dust the cobwebs and sweep the floor, because closets are not self storage units, they are the heart of humanness storing all that we own, we love, brave and afraid and free to be…without privileged thievery or orange graffiti, or worse, becoming cookie cutter or the object of the political puppeteer…we rise without question, arranged and in order in a chaotic world and yet, within our boundaries.
People may not remember what you said, but they will remember how you made them feel. — Maya Angelou