When we go to the door, do we know what lays beyond? That is a question of wonder, full of wonder and wonderful. Miroslav Holub suggests we go and open the door. Opening the door, we are not sure what to expect. Is there a magic city, a picture of a picture, or the sound of the darkness ticking waiting for light to break through?
What drew me to the poem was the very last word: “draught.” It is an uncommon word, suggesting when I open the door a breeze will pass through the house. Somehow, the breeze relieves me of the stuffiness and certainty of what I think is inside. The wind blows gently and clears the clutter of certitude from my mind.
Go and open the door.
Maybe outside there’s
a tree, or a wood,
a garden,
or a magic city.
Go and open the door.
Maybe a dog’s rummaging.
Maybe you’ll see a face,
or an eye,
or the picture
of a picture.
Go and open the door.
If there’s a fog
it will clear.
Go and open the door.
Even if there’s only
the darkness ticking,
even if there’s only
the hollow wind,
even if
nothing
is there,
go and open the door.
At least
there’ll be
a draught.
Teacher as Transformer 