The Top of the Marble Steps

I reached the marble steps and at the top the giant ebony doors were swung open, indifferent to any passerby that happened to wander through them.  Fear of this indifference is what kept me out, as long years passed and my hands grew thin, and my eyes' natural posture hunched over.  The days kept me on the riverbanks, looking for rocks to throw, and always noticing the mosquitoes landing on my back.  In certain weeks I found the trees, and at their tops I often dreamt of taking to the wind like otters in the ocean, diving deeper into the atmosphere and surfacing only at times to the soft earth.  But I knew nothing of what lied between those giant ebony doors at the top of the marble steps, because I never ventured to wander in.

When people walk in straight lines they neglect the newness of waves, and when they travel horizontally they only experience the needle of paint that changes colors every hundred yards, and they call it beautiful.  But if I took my gaze from the top of the stars to the bottom of the sea and even squeeze myself into the deepest pits of volcanoes, the array of color might overwhelm me with a newness of sight.  But I stand here on the marble steps, and fear keeps me from entering the giant ebony doors at the top.  If light has power to bend, can it change its path and enter with me?