Gate to myself

Gates are fascinating and intriguing. They hide an entire different world than the one we see. They can hide secrets, things we dream of, dramatic and fascinating life stories. They protect those stories from the outer world. Behind the gate, life can go undisturbed by noisiness. 

Whenever I find myself in front of a gate, I wonder what will I find beyond. 

It's like facing an entrance to the world of my own thoughts. Should I enter? Should I contemplate from outside? 

Once I take the step beyond the gate, that’s it. I find myself in the middle of the story. Of my own story. I have to face its reality, different from the one I consciously imagined from outside. I get to know its tiny details, whether I like them or not.  I am facing the reality of my own inside world with its own routine. I could even see my thoughts sitting around the garden table, having lunch. They might invite me to join them. Or not. Or let me stand there, at the gate, staring. 

Passing through the gate I become a guest in my own thoughts’ yard. I have to get to know them and it is scary. What if I don’t like them? What if they don't like me, the outsider?

Behind any gate I see a story. Should I enter?