The Red Door

A man wakes up to the sound of water drops leaking from the sky of his bleak

world. A contact with the outside world comes through a mobile phone devoid

of human connect. The journey begins with the man carrying a red door

through a lush, green field full of promise of bountiful harvest. The quest

continues through a maze of trees but never leaving the trodden path. Then

he crosses a bridge to the second half of life where he clambers up a rugged

and withering landscape. He reaches a world of mute, standing stones.

From the opulent green to the world of withered and unappealing brown, and

finally he reaches the mountaintop tired, he enters the door and says, “Mother,

I am home” and goes to sleep.

Maybe death is as mundane as opening a door. When we die, we just enter

another door, and say, “Mother, I am home”. Perhaps we never die; we only

enter another door into another world. We would only enter, enter into new

life again and again and again. We never exit. If there is reincarnation, then

death is birth. You are born again. There is no death.