A room full of closed doors

This is where I find myself. Again and again. I don’t know how I end up here. One moment I would be walking through the most beautiful garden, or sitting by the beach, or even flying free, trying to measure the length and breadth of the clear blue sky. And the next, I’ll find myself here – in this room. Every square inch painted the same colour – different colour every time. Smooth walls. Walls full of doors, one next to the other. All locked.


Part I

Toiling forward the colours seep through the blackness like wisps of cigarette smoke rising quietly and conspicuously. First you could only see purple, but slowly other colours emerged, each rich in its own way, each affected. Orange, Green, Blue, Turquois, Magenta, all blending and merging and becoming new colours, separating into new streams and wisps of new shades, floating, and all the time invading the blackness. Like watching clouds in the sky; feeling sometimes like the thin wisps were outlining a shape – a thing, sometimes a person, at some others, a place; a word maybe, a thought – after a point you just lost track. simply stared in awe, surrender and a sort of helplessness, because you knew it was like the tide, unstoppable.

She stirred; eyes still closed, she breathed a quiet sigh. The currents around her swirled with her movement. There was momentary chaos, a sort of disturbance. The shapes shifted. Have you ever seen the colours mix as you put your painbrush into the little pot with water? For a few moments the colours are themselves, and then, in a flash, they start to blend, changing one another, till the whole is changed. Anything new must go through the same process. Eventually the chaos must settle and the colours resume their ebb and flow, twisting and twirling, swishing past a stream, crossing another. But the whole had changed. It was another dream.