I feel discomfort squirming like a jagged little pill - like a stegosaurus worm inching along my gut or a bold shiver that shirks and shakes but has no face. Disquiet. Like the flash of cotton white on the stairs when no one is there - but that's a peripheral play that amuses more than frightens - because it's always been there - because that's just as true to my reality as the sun or moon or liquid dish detergent. This is more ominous and cold sweat and trying to convince myself otherwise but no matter the argument I can't forget all those episodes of Buffy The Vampire Slayer and her witchy pal, Willow.
I was puffed up mighty and all 'check me out and my strapping vigor that pulled this thousand pound solid door up the barn stairs and into the house and decorated just so and beautifully leaning it against my dining room wall like an art piece.' And I was smug and drinking my tea and already posting the picture on facebook even though I knew Marie would be mad at me because I was supposed to be creating ideas for her to do with her old doors.
That star. That one I made from a cereal box and painted white and rubbed 'auburn gold' into the creases...I couldn't punch a hole to let it hang. It only made sense to wrap it with twine......
It takes almost an hour to realize.
I had made a pentagram.
And on Buffy, a pentagram only stood for something evil and dangerous.
But I am bigger than Buffy.
So I google it. Not so redemptive.
And suddenly, I hate this door I felt so strongly about before and, even more, I hate that a symbol can cause such a strange, physical reaction within me. I will not fold. A star is a star is a star.
A day later we sit at dinner and he asks the children, "Where does the door lead?"
"Narnia," one says.
"Does it bother you that there's a pentagram on it?" I ask.
"What?" he turns to look at it. "No, I love the stars. The stars are great."
"The one with twine..."
"Oh," and his eyebrows go up. "Oh, no I don't like that."
"'Cause I hadn't realized - while I was doing it...and then I felt weird about it but thought maybe I was crazy..."
"I don't like that at all!"
...ye olde door has been redeemed!
(And shame on you, Buffy Summers, and your symbolic mysticism...)