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When I step into the room, I see many doors and multiple pathways. Some doors are marked with goals to obtain; others are faceless and unnamed. Yet no matter the door, they respond easily to my voice—when I am not trying, when I am not pushing. It is no longer my hand that turns the doorknob or closes the door behind me, but an intelligence that moves with the sages, the demagogues, the masters, and the unknown.

I am here, but not here, as I look out toward the doors and move through them with ease, zigzagging like an innocent, not-yet-born girl—now a woman—free to move, free within this expression. As I continue to play with this imagery, like a mind looking in on itself—back at me, and me back at it—the room empties. I call it empty, and it empties. I call it doors, lights, chaos, and it all turns on with the sound of my voice and the maturation of my abilities—taught to others before there was even the notion of light or the naming of despair.

Now I stand in the center of the room. Darkness no longer betrays or frightens me. Silence no longer annoys or beckons; it quiets me. I am no longer in the room, and neither are you—yet the room remains, not because someone named it, but because someone emptied it. By and by, someone emptied it.