The Door to Infinity



The door to infinity opens to a corridor that runs below the street; a walkway for pedestrians, some of whom are asleep, some of whom are awake. Whatever state they are in, when passing each other they provide for each other. They emit whatever distinction they carry with them – a dream perhaps when sleeping, a memory perhaps when awake -- and absorb another’s. Their passing also charges a surplus to the interchange that keeps the corridor in tact -- for them and for other pedestrians to come. 

Now the corridor is wide enough and high enough to allow pedestrians to pass each other without incident. At the same time, its construction – by whom or what agency I cannot say – places those within it at least close enough to enable the interchange. A brief shiver that traverses the shoulders, neck and head signals the moment. Point of view also plays into this, as does fantasy. Tales tell of two pedestrians -- one coming, one going – who suddenly merge, separate and continue on their way. Whether or not they do merge, and what happens to each having merged, is certainly a question to resolve. 

That the structure has existed for millennia, very much part of our history, is reason enough to celebrate. Not because “infinity” is a place a pedestrian can reach and say, definitively, this is where I am; this, my infinity, is also yours. Rather, the age of the corridor, its prestige in society, the various cultural forms that it gives birth to – in scholarship, the arts, literature, music, etc. – the reciprocal coming and going, the near tidal increase and decrease of pedestrians in the corridor over time give to us a continuity we simply can’t do without; or haven’t up to this point done without -- which is probably a more truthful way of putting it.

That all this occurs below ground is another inducement for wonder, especially because above ground, on the street, amidst the quotidian Hurley-burly, that other place, unseen yet poignantly felt, attracts, no matter how “down there” it is – as though submerged lateral movement had acquired a marvelously rich resonant charm in itself, and in which and by which we are able to live just a little more intensely.

Recently, an effort to rationalize access to the corridor by mapping its aboveground entrances has largely failed. Once identified, a doorway thereafter vanishes as if it weren’t there at all and, in fact, had never been there. I suppose these occurrences speak to factors in the infinite that elude us, derived from yet unexplained or ever inexplicable encounters.

Nowhere to be found after having been found, the door to the infinite finds us when we need it or when we least expect it. And when it appears, there is every reason to open it and begin a descent as others, having ended their walk, ascend, re-entering a world that they can now revive.

Gregg Simpson and Allan Graubard
           Bowen Island, BC; /  New York, NY

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