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by David Sparenberg
2016-03-25 11:34:48
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The first day I went and knocked on the door, it was raining.  It was a hard rain.  A noisy rain.

I knocked on the door several times.  I called out, “Hello!  Is anyone in there?  Please come to the door.”  Nobody came.  The door did not open.

I went away while the rain was still coming down.  I went away intent on returning at a later time.

kafka01_400Days went by and weeks and months.  There was a change of season.  Then one day I decided to return.  To try again.
It was not raining then.  But it was twilight.  Shadows were lengthening and crowding together all around.  Darkness felt organic.  The darkness grew.  Soon it would be night.
Still, I approached.  I knocked on the door, knocking several times; knocking forcefully.  I called out, “Hello!  Hello!  If you are inside, come to the door.  Open up!”
I stood there uncertain and listening.  Not a sound came from within.  I recall telling myself, “Look at how it is.  It is nearly dark.  Perhaps whoever is inside is afraid to open the door in this gloom, when there are so many shadows?  When there is so little light.”

I shrugged and went away.
This time I felt a tremor of anger.  But not for long.  My anger gave way to anguish and then a dull anxiety.  A condition.  An existentiality. I could not shake it.
Gradually I sank into despair.  This was a self-doubting, a self-alienating insecurity that I could not, no matter what, avoid.  But how could I avoid it?  This was my life.  This was what I was becoming.  This is how and who I am!
It was under this pressure that I began asking myself unpleasant questions.  Questions such as: “Why am I being left out?  What have I done wrong?  Why am I  humiliated and forced to suffer in this manner?” 
Finally my patience ran out.  I roused myself.  I returned for a third time.  Everything depended on this desperate third attempt.
That day, it was not ever close to twilight.  It was scarcely past noon.  There were no imminent shadows.  No ominous portents fell or lingered over the land or sky.  Nothing other than the small inconsequential shadows that accompany everyday things in the presence of abundant light.

I looked off to the far horizon.  Rain clouds were beginning to gather out there and slowly drift in my direction.  Of what consequence? I would not be deterred.  I still had reason.  I still could see.  There was yet time before the rain would arrive.  Before the noise of the rain might interfere.  Perhaps whoever was inside was old and afflicted?  Perhaps crippled.  Perhaps blind and nearly deaf.  I had to account for limitations.  To extend myself beyond what seemed possible.

I knocked on the door.  I beat on it forcefully, calling out as I landed blow after blow.  My outcry was a scream, a terrible, terrifying and shameful scream.  I shouted, “Somebody is in there.  Somebody is on the inside.  You hear me knocking.  How can you not hear me knocking? Come now.  Stop this intolerable pretense. What cruelty! Open up!  Open!”

But there was no movement in the interior, over the threshold, from beyond the closed door.  There was no reply.  There was only the wind increasing in strength, blowing rain in my direction.  Bringing the rain closer.
There was only the spell of silence. Silence. That chill of silence my voice fell into. Silence and rain and time.  Time and rain and silence. I stood before the door, wall of a door,  exhausted, broken, utterly, not knowing what to do.

David Sparenberg
5 March 2016


Check David Sparenberg's NEW BOOK
THE GREEN TROUBADOUR A Source Book of Performance Ecosophy
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!




David Sparenberg has also 2 more Books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"Life in the Age of Extinctions volume 2 – Threshold"
Download for FREE HERE!



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