The Garden with Four Doors: Which to take?
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| (Photo illustration by Ahmed Estaita and Amarjit Sidhu) |
By JUDE M. ALKELABI
Al Arabiya
Al Arabiya
One blessed night, I thought of escaping civilization, I stepped out to my garden, I lay down on a small blanket, and I was united with the tranquility of the universe. I looked up for a miracle, for a “shooting star,” so that I could make a wish.
Nothing was there but the darkness, the harmonic tone of crickets, and myself. Silence invaded every vein in me, I heard silence, I saw silence, and I touched silence, till a flash of light passed, quickly changing everything ever after in that holy night.
Nothing was there but the darkness, the harmonic tone of crickets, and myself. Silence invaded every vein in me, I heard silence, I saw silence, and I touched silence, till a flash of light passed, quickly changing everything ever after in that holy night.
I suddenly found myself in front of four wonderful doors: one was made of gold, another of silver, a third of ivory, and the last made of glass. I wondered what might be behind each door, what each door might take me to, and if it was safe to enter. Having no option, I had to choose a door. I picked the second door, the silver door. I held my breath, hearing only my racing heartbeats. I stepped in.
My eyes came upon a normal city. People were walking around on streets, and children were playing. My heartbeats became normal again, I started smiling and wondering: Where am I?
Starting to walk and to discover more, I gently stopped a man who was reading a newspaper. “I know I sound insane, but can you please tell me the name of this place?” I asked.
The man continued reading his newspaper; he didn’t even look at me. I tried asking another person, I stepped to a woman who was holding her baby. “Dear, would you please tell me where am I right now? I asked.
And again, the woman didn’t answer, nor did she look at me.
I felt abandoned and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go, till an old man stopped just in front of me. Smiling gently, he said: “You are in the Christians’ city, little girl, no one can see you or hear you, you are totally invisible.” He then walked away.
I looked around taking the advantage of being invisible, went into restaurants, watched people talking and laughing, sat next to couples and families. Everyone was at peace, all citizens of this city were happy and enjoying their lives.
I then remembered, the golden door!
I started running until I reached the pathway again. Breathing fast, I saw the four doors, and this time I chose the golden one.
Nothing behind this door was different—same surroundings, same streets. Again, the city was extremely peaceful, everyone seemed to be happy. But wait, the people were different. Some women wore braids, some men wore black hats.
A small scratch of paper floated toward me. I grabbed it and read. “Jewish city,” it said.
I didn’t want to waste more time, I went back to the pathway to find out the mystery about the other two doors.
This time I picked the door made of ivory. I opened it, and walked in. A normal city again, life seemed smooth and in rhythm, some women were wearing veils covering their hair, and people were busy and in peace. I didn’t have to wonder: I knew this was “Islam city.”
Only one door remained unopened, so I decided to exit the peace of the third city and discover what was behind the last door. I ran to the pathway, stood in front of the glass door, and, with some hesitation, I entered.
There I saw the old man again, I quickly shouted: “Tell me what is this place, please!”
“Nonbelievers, only nonbelievers live here. It’s the city of the nonbelievers,” the old man said, and then he disappeared.
I had no time to think or look around in the city, suddenly the ground was moving under my feet, doors started crumbling, my vision became blurry, and I fell down.
A few seconds later, I opened my eyes. I was scared. I was breathing heavily. I look around, only to find myself still on the blanket, darkness of the night still surrounding.
I realized, of course, that it was just a dream, a dream of life with no war or hate, each city feeling content with being filled with their folks of same religion, no fights, no fear, total peace.
It seems that this might be the only solution to find peace on earth, to live separately, to categorize life and groups and cure all the hate—until such a time that the real cure of “understanding” and “opening up to other’s opinions” could be implemented. Such a cure, of course, would make the world a better place to live in. It would mean understanding and accepting others the way they are; it’s the simple yet impossible solution—as long rigid minds don’t see it, let alone grasp.
And in time, hoping for such a miracle to happen, I'll look for another shooting star, I will make a wish, and no doors will be included this time in my special garden. Actually, I just made my wish, didn’t I? Amen.
My eyes came upon a normal city. People were walking around on streets, and children were playing. My heartbeats became normal again, I started smiling and wondering: Where am I?
Starting to walk and to discover more, I gently stopped a man who was reading a newspaper. “I know I sound insane, but can you please tell me the name of this place?” I asked.
The man continued reading his newspaper; he didn’t even look at me. I tried asking another person, I stepped to a woman who was holding her baby. “Dear, would you please tell me where am I right now? I asked.
And again, the woman didn’t answer, nor did she look at me.
I felt abandoned and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go, till an old man stopped just in front of me. Smiling gently, he said: “You are in the Christians’ city, little girl, no one can see you or hear you, you are totally invisible.” He then walked away.
I looked around taking the advantage of being invisible, went into restaurants, watched people talking and laughing, sat next to couples and families. Everyone was at peace, all citizens of this city were happy and enjoying their lives.
I then remembered, the golden door!
I started running until I reached the pathway again. Breathing fast, I saw the four doors, and this time I chose the golden one.
Nothing behind this door was different—same surroundings, same streets. Again, the city was extremely peaceful, everyone seemed to be happy. But wait, the people were different. Some women wore braids, some men wore black hats.
A small scratch of paper floated toward me. I grabbed it and read. “Jewish city,” it said.
I didn’t want to waste more time, I went back to the pathway to find out the mystery about the other two doors.
This time I picked the door made of ivory. I opened it, and walked in. A normal city again, life seemed smooth and in rhythm, some women were wearing veils covering their hair, and people were busy and in peace. I didn’t have to wonder: I knew this was “Islam city.”
Only one door remained unopened, so I decided to exit the peace of the third city and discover what was behind the last door. I ran to the pathway, stood in front of the glass door, and, with some hesitation, I entered.
There I saw the old man again, I quickly shouted: “Tell me what is this place, please!”
“Nonbelievers, only nonbelievers live here. It’s the city of the nonbelievers,” the old man said, and then he disappeared.
I had no time to think or look around in the city, suddenly the ground was moving under my feet, doors started crumbling, my vision became blurry, and I fell down.
A few seconds later, I opened my eyes. I was scared. I was breathing heavily. I look around, only to find myself still on the blanket, darkness of the night still surrounding.
I realized, of course, that it was just a dream, a dream of life with no war or hate, each city feeling content with being filled with their folks of same religion, no fights, no fear, total peace.
It seems that this might be the only solution to find peace on earth, to live separately, to categorize life and groups and cure all the hate—until such a time that the real cure of “understanding” and “opening up to other’s opinions” could be implemented. Such a cure, of course, would make the world a better place to live in. It would mean understanding and accepting others the way they are; it’s the simple yet impossible solution—as long rigid minds don’t see it, let alone grasp.
And in time, hoping for such a miracle to happen, I'll look for another shooting star, I will make a wish, and no doors will be included this time in my special garden. Actually, I just made my wish, didn’t I? Amen.
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