Red velvet rope juxtaposed dulled brick walls, sunbeaten and aged by neglect. I know just how it feels.
The black fire doors open sharply, a haze of smoke and overdone murmuring expelled with the couple dressed far too up for this part of town. Those waiting in line try to catch a glimpse of who they might be, or who they might have become as a result of their excursion on the other side of the rope. We’re all out here searching for something, whether it be fame, knowledge, wholeness, or even just a brief escape from the echoing madness that comes of suspecting it’s all for naught.
I wish I still smoked. It would give me something to do, some way to pass the time while I pretend I’m not desperate to get inside. It’s not the sunglasses clad uberhip I care to mingle with, nor the thought of an overpriced old fashioned that has me licking dry lips. It’s that pesky hope, that awful possibility, the niggling feeling at the nape of my neck that the rumors might be true. There might be something more to this, which can be not so easily encapsulated within the thoughts and speech of man.
I mean, if some who speculate that the things beyond the stars are far too vast in scope and consequence for the meager human mind to grasp, well that’s easy. No point in trying to wrap one’s head around something that can’t be wrapped around. Best to just go about your business at that point, drink your lattes, walk the dog, let each day tick by without concern for what lies outside of this.
But if there’s even a chance of finding out, of seeing behind the curtain, or in this case the rope, and learning where, how and why we fit within the scheme of things, I don’t care how dodgy it might seem. I have to try. Sure there are probably books and holy places to visit, elders to consult, but who has time for that anymore?