I love opening doors. There’s something magic about them. The threshold. The point between one thing and another. The transition. Outside in. Inside out. Known into unknown.

There are so many kinds of doors.

Hidden doors.

Behind closed doors. Dark and shady dealings that we don’t speak of. Shameful things that must be kept out of sight. The doors of the closets in which we keep our skeletons. The door in Bluebeard’s house that must never be opened.

Doors that never close. Brightly lit 24/7 sliding doors into fast food and convenience stores and petrol stations. Into hospitals and all-night vets waiting to feed you, to serve you, to heal you, night or day when you’re hungry or stuck or hurt or just need to see another human face at three in the morning when you can’t sleep.

My door is always open. An open threshold that invites and welcomes. Come in, sit down, make yourself at home. My house is your house. You belong here.

Ostentatious doors. Doors that promise opulence. Doors that are designed to intimidate. Doors into the house of god. Doors that are opened for you with impeccable timing by gloved hands, a practiced smile, immaculately polished shoes.

The door to the servant’s entry, around the back, behind the grand facade.

Secret doors down twisting alleyways, hidden in deep shadow – doors that open if you knock right, doors leading to staircases lit with guttering candles. Voices and music spill out.

Revolving doors. Round and round and round and don’t get stuck in them, you’ll spin until you’re dizzy and wonder how you ended up outside again, again, again.

One door closes, another opens.

Whimsical and fantastical doors. The kinds of doors I used to love reading about as a child. And still do as an adult. Doors in the trunks of giant trees Doors in the fabric of the universe. Doors as portals into other times and other places.

Doors in your mind, doors in your mind, doors in your mind.

Doors let things out. Doors also let things in. Air. Light. New ideas. Opening too many doors at once can be overwhelming. Too few doors feels like stuckness, stagnation, boredom, stale air that’s hard to breathe.

Every tool and practice I know is a door. A door into my thinking, into my understanding of the world, into my ways of relating to people, to experiences, to life. A door into insight and healing and change.

I’ve been collecting these kinds of doors for years. An entire library of doors. Is there a collective noun for doors? If there isn’t, there should be. And from my hoard of doors, something new is being born.

It’s an offering for those who are curious. It’s an offering for those who are searching. It’s an offering for those who are committed. It’s an opening of doors.

Curious to know more? Message me or book a call, and I’ll tell you more about it 🙂 It’ll 100% change your life.