A story:
A doorkeeper stands on guard before the temple of the Law. To this doorkeeper there comes a man who begs for admittance to the Law, but the doorkeeper says that he cannot admit the man at the moment.
The man, on reflection, asks if he will be allowed then to enter later.
‘It is possible,’ answers the doorkeeper, ‘but not at this moment.’
Since the door stands open as usual, the man bends down to peer through the entrance.
The doorkeeper laughs and says, ‘If you are so strongly tempted, try to get in without my permission. But note that I am powerful and I am only the lowest doorkeeper. From hall to hall, keepers stand at every door, each one more powerful than the other. Even the third of these has an aspect that even I cannot bear to look at.’
The man is given a stool and permitted to sit down at the side of the door, and there he sits for many years. Again and again he tries to get permission, or to get at least a definitive answer, but he is always told that he cannot enter yet.
At long last his life is drawing to a close. Before he dies, all that he has experienced during the whole time of his sojourn condenses in his mind into one question which he has never put to the doorkeeper. He beckons the doorkeeper.
‘What do you want to know now?’ asks the doorkeeper. ‘You are insatiable.’
‘Everybody strives to attain the Law,’ answers the man. ‘How does it come about then, that in all these years no one has come seeking admittance but me?’
The doorkeeper perceives that the man is at the end of his strength and his hearing is failing, so he bellows in his ear: ‘No one but you could gain admittance through this door since this door was intended only for you. I am now going to shut it.’
– Source unknown
This is a captivating story that touches on themes of opportunity, loss, fate and regret. What can we learn from it?
‘There comes a man who begs admittance into the Law’. We notice straight away a quality of helplessness, submissiveness and powerlessness in this man. He feels the need to ask for permission, to defer to authority before pursuing what it is, he wants to pursue. The underlying assumption here is ‘I need permission before I can proceed’.
The man takes the doorkeeper’s word to be law. He allows the doorkeeper to control and restrict his actions and cannot contemplate proceeding along his path in defiance of the doorkeeper. The man gives his power over to the doorkeeper allowing him to become master of his fate. He asks if there is a chance that he will be allowed to enter later. Here the doorman offers him crumbs of hope: He can’t go in right now, but it is possible he will be allowed to enter later. It is this hope that keeps the man sitting there, waiting, patiently, hoping that some day he will be granted permission to enter. The man abdicates responsibility for his life; decisions are made for him; he has no agency.
‘Since the door stands open as usual, the man bends down to peer through the entrance’. The sense of possibility in this is seductive and enticing. The man is given a glimpse of what could be, and what might one day still be. He longs and dreams, and waits.
Next there emerges a moment where the man is given a portal of possibility, the hint of opportunity, an invitation even:
The doorkeeper laughs and says, ‘If you are so strongly tempted, try to get in without my permission. But note that I am powerful and I am only the lowest doorkeeper. From hall to hall, keepers stand at every door, each one more powerful than the other. Even the third of these has an aspect that even I cannot bear to look at.’
Fate or providence is speaking to him here. The message is clear: You must become your own authority, give yourself permission, act on your own agency, rather than waiting hopefully for something outside you to save you. It is the child in the man who waits hopefully; His salvation lies in the adult in him coming forward and taking control.
The doorkeeper paints a picture of challenge and adversity. He could embark on his mission, but the odds of success are stacked against him; either way it will involve toil and struggle. The holy grail will not be handed to him. It must be fought for and won.
But, one can only assume, this task appears too daunting for the man. He is under the assumption that he can get what he wants in life without hardship and challenge; that one day, without effort, things will simply be granted to him but some external agency.
There are moments like this in life where, if we pay attention, we can detect life beckoning us towards some unlikely destiny. It is generally an unlikely scenario, a dream, a vision, that calls us forth, but that will likely require much sacrifice and pain. It is not the secure and sensible route but the path of great risk, and possibly, great reward. Yet sometimes, something – the enticement of reward, adventure, curiosity, calling – draws us forth and we embark on the path of greater peril regardless.
These moments are openings in the universe that are not static. They open and invite but if you hesitate, defer, or procrastinate, the moment and the opportunity passes. You have a small window to go forth, to leap into the unknown, before the chance disappears forever.
Robert Frost writes:
‘I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.’
Another source (Osho, perhaps) speaks about the courage needed in these moments of decision:
‘And my second Master was a dog. I was thirsty and I was going towards the river, and a dog came. He was also thirsty. He looked into the river, he saw another dog there — his own image — and became afraid. He barked and the other dog barked, too. But his thirst was so much that he would hesitate and go back. He would come again and look into the water and find the dog there. But the thirst was so much that he suddenly jumped into the water, and the image disappeared. He drank the water, he swam in the water — it was a hot summer. And I was watching. I knew that a message had come to me from God. One has to jump in spite of all fears.
‘When I was on the verge of jumping into the unknown, the same fear was there. I would go to the very edge, hesitate, and come back. And I would remember the dog. If the dog could manage, why not I? And then one day I jumped into the unknown. I disappeared and only the unknown was left behind. The dog was my second Master.’
What propels us forward in these moments when everything in the organism is gearing up to flee? Anaïs Nin writes, “And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
The man in our story chooses not to choose, and stays with the status quo. He fails to act and so the world remains unchanged and his opportunity disappears into eternity. This kind of bravery requires deep wells of trust and hope. Another story illustrates this:
‘A man was chased off a cliff by a tiger. He fell, and just managed to hold onto a branch. Six feet above him stood the tiger, snarling. A hundred feet below, a violent sea lashed fierce-looking rocks. To his horror, he noticed that the branch he was clutching was being gnawed at its roots by two rats. Seeing he was doomed, he cried out, “O Lord, save me!”
He heard a Voice reply, “Of course, I will save you. But first, let go of the branch!”’
Returning to our protagonist:
‘The man is given a stool and permitted to sit down at the side of the door, and there he sits for many years. Again and again he tries to get permission, or to get at least a definitive answer, but he is always told that he cannot enter yet.’
He continues to wait, settling for a life less large. The uncertainty of the situation eats at him. Better to know for sure that he is in prison that to live with the possibility that he might be free but failing to act on that freedom! Next, we move towards the inevitable sadness of regret and the pain of time lost that can never be regained:
‘At long last his life is drawing to a close. Before he dies, all that he has experienced during the whole time of his sojourn condenses in his mind into one question which he has never put to the doorkeeper. He beckons the doorkeeper.
‘What do you want to know now?’ asks the doorkeeper. ‘You are insatiable.’
‘Everybody strives to attain the Law,’ answers the man. ‘How does it come about then, that in all these years no one has come seeking admittance but me?’
The doorkeeper perceives that the man is at the end of his strength and his hearing is failing, so he bellows in his ear: ‘No one but you could gain admittance through this door since this door was intended only for you. I am now going to shut it.’
The pain of destiny denied! It emerged, too late, that the man had been seeing the whole situation wrong – what he saw primarily was the obstacle rather than the opportunity – he has been focused on the doorman blocking his entrance rather than the open door of his destiny inviting him in! But, through his hesitancy and fear, he has waited too long and the opportunity now has disappeared.
Perhaps all of our lives are littered with these open doors but rather than seeing the possibilities we sometimes focus more on the fear and limitation and so unwittingly deny our destiny. It is sad to think that so many lives are left unrealised, half-lived from a failure to see the possibility that was hidden in plain sight all along.
The good news is that it is never too late. It is always possible to take a different path because the creative force of life is always offering up opportunity for growth and new direction – if only we can open our eyes and see it.