PROSE POETRY I JOURNAL
The Key Finder’s Journey
Seeking the gateway to the universe
I sat in that dimly lit room, gazing toward the lone window. Against the backdrop of a radiant, sun-soaked day, the interior walls in contrast appeared inky dark. What a dramatic chiaroscuro interplay! Much like life’s perennial conundrum — the struggle between the room’s obscurity and the window’s radiant vista.
I focused on the window — a glowing gem amidst the room’s gloominess. Beyond the glass, the view extended like an open invitation. Like the numerous windows of Dickinson’s “I Dwell in Possibility,” it refused to conform to the mundane and had limitless possibilities.
I gaped longingly at the beckoning field that looked from the magical world of Narnia! I sprang from my seat and approached the window, my mind swirling with thoughts of how to unlock the window. It was like deciphering a secret code from the Chronicles of Narnia, only without the helpful guidance of Aslan.
I scrutinized the frame, searching for a hidden latch, perhaps a magical mechanism that might whisk me into a land of marvels. Was it like trying to find the magic word or maybe a secret door?
Frustration began to bottle up as my attempts to crack the window’s mystery faced the trials. I twisted, pulled, and pushed with all my determination, yet the window remained stubborn.
Turning my attention to the door, I hoped for a more direct path to freedom. I pounded on it urgently, but it stood as immovable as the monolithic stone table.
In a last, defiant act, I returned to the window and banged on the glass with vigor. The sound reverberated through the room, but the window refused to yield.
I was trapped in this dark room, with the tantalizing Narnia-like field just beyond my reach, separated by the unyielding, toughened glass, like the boundary between two worlds that could only be crossed with the right key or incantation.
My relentless quest for freedom — I began my search. The canvas on the wall caught my eye — “The Lovers” by Rene Magritte. Though the details were veiled in shadow, the stark white scarfs on the figures stood out. An intuition nudged me — the secret might be tucked away within this work of art. With deliberate care, I removed it from the wall. Behind the canvas, hidden in the recesses of the wall, revealed an ornate key!
It was unlike any key I had ever seen — intricate patterns etched on its surface, resembling the twists and turns of the brain’s neural pathways. The key was to the mind what a North Star is to a lost traveler — an esoteric guide within the dimly lit room. I gingerly picked up the key. It felt weighty as if it held the collective thoughts of generations. The neural pathways were a cartography of cognition.
I approached the window and inserted the transcendental key, realizing it wasn’t just a physical instrument. As I turned it, the window pane creaked open slowly, revealing a world where the boundaries of perceptions dissolved.
I crawled out of the window — bathed in the warm sunlight, greeted by hundreds of yellow butterflies. I entered a universe beyond our everyday understanding of reality where the rules of the ordinary no longer apply — much like the adventures of Narnia’s fabled protagonists who ventured on their daring journey into the enigmatic unknown.
As the swarm of yellow butterflies danced around me, a series of polite knocks on the door abruptly interrupted my magical moment. A friendly voice called out, “Room Service!”
My heart raced as I winced, torn from the ethereal dream. With a jolt of awakening, I recognized the harsh intrusion of reality.
I hastily got up, brewed a cup of coffee and stood by the window — my mind still clinging to the magical reverie. I made one last attempt to open the window without the key, and with a reluctant creak, it gave way. The sun burst forth, caressing my face with its brilliance.
I set out for another adventure to a different destination — drove through the sprawling Narnian field where constraints seemed to fade away, and unlike Prufrock, I no longer “measured out my life in coffee spoons.”
The yellow butterflies could be awaiting our reunion just beyond the next bend.
© Manali Mitra 2023. All Rights Reserved.
