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The Door

The Door
by Jace Daniel (b. 1969)

There once was a door in a stuffy room. Hanging on hinges, this door’s job was to open the stuffy room up to the outside world. This outside world was full of wonderful, vibrant things, both known and unknown, and the door enjoyed its job very much.

And this stuffy room was full of people, big and small, young and old. These people would open the door, curious, fascinated, inspired, peeking out from the stuffy room, allowing fresh air in from the outside world. When the people found the fresh air to be an interference in their affairs, they became angry with the door.

“This door needs to be fixed,” they would say. “It’s letting fresh air and wonderful smells into our room. It’s interfering with our affairs, and it’s making us very uncomfortable.”

And they would close the door.

Before long, the people would open the door again, curious, fascinated, inspired, peeking out from the stuffy room, allowing the bright light in from the outside world. When the people found the bright light to be an interference in their affairs, they became angry with the door.

“This door needs to be fixed,” they would say. “It’s letting bright light and vibrant colors into our room. It’s interfering with our affairs, and it’s making us very uncomfortable.”

And they would close the door.

This would happen again, and again, and again, and over time, the hinges of the door began to creak from years of use. And the people in the stuffy room became angry with the door.

“You need to be fixed,” they told the door. “First, you let fresh air and wonderful smells into our room. Then, you let bright light and vibrant colors into our room. And now, you’re making too much noise in our room. You’re interfering with our affairs, and you’re making us very uncomfortable. How dare you call yourself part of this room?”

And so the door slammed.

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