A gate, I step up to, try to move the eye out of the hook and it doesn’t budge. I pause, and try again. Same thing happens. I grow impatient, wonder if I am even meant to go through this gate right now, but the composte bucket is full and needs to be emptied. If I don’t do it now, I’ll have to try again later.
So why not wait. I am impatient. Or impatience finds me standing at the gate, breath shallows, feet shuffle. I move my centre of gravity to the other hip, put the bucket down on the grass beside me and take a deeper breath. Hands freed, mind clearer, I place my fingers on the clasp again. Impatience noses its head out; I shift weight again.
The roses beside the gate aren’t in bloom yet, neither the yellow nor the pink. Leaves in wait for their fair maiden buds to bloom and shine. Still, they are as present as always.
I try the clasp again, turn it around in its hole. I switch it up, down, nothing seems to help. I laugh. This gate has got me! I am becoming bored with its refusal. And then I try again, just to make my point, that I should have left it and come back later, and it swiftly opens. Now I am walking through on task, as if that whole drama never happened. The composte bucket now empty, lunch to be prepared when I return to the loft.
As I walk through the Gate and turn to close the clasp again behind me, I smile and see it smile back.
What—you are thinking—gates don’t smile. This one does, it knows it has taught me today, held me long enough in its grasp (clasp) to move through the mind’s distraction and come to bask in the sweet taste of here, hello.
You are here. Remember. This task is not difficult, challenging, a b***h. It is a task, like opening a gate. Now or later. Your effort is needed, and you never know when the moment will pass. You will always move on. You will always come to the next task. You will meet this impatience, again and again. And everything will smile at you, even a gate, as you say, with all your presence, hello.