It is easy to view the world as a place of darkness. It does not come as a surprise that our hearts are similarly shrouded when we keep them behind barred doors fitted with the kind of security that would make a supermax prison self conscious. Neither is it surprising that those of us accustomed to the dark fail to see the good in light – after all, if light truly was a good thing it would not be so blinding.
It has been said that I have a bright heart and a warm aura, but I often feel the contrary. I used to be adrift in the darkness of my own soul, a part of me still is and always will be. Even those of us with radiant personalities harbour our own shadow.
One or the other, it doesn’t matter. Balance cannot be achieved without both.
There is a door within me. It is a plain door, of good quality oak, and equipped with an iron handle. There is no keyhole, yet the door is locked. I know because I’ve tried to open it countless times. That, and the fact that I’m the one who closed it. It was ajar once, this door of mine and through it came things I did not understand.
However, as I move forward through life I desperately knock on that door. I crave the things I know wait beyond it. I want to reclaim what I sealed away. I want to be able to see again, like I once could.