Holding the Threshold Open

There was a time when I thought the task was to lead people through.

To clarify the path.
To point out the next step.
To make the crossing easier.

That instinct was sincere.
And incomplete.

Some thresholds don’t ask for guidance.
They ask for space.

Not direction, presence.
Not instruction, permission.

I learned this by staying.

By not filling the silence with advice.
By not translating the moment into something manageable.

A threshold is not a problem to be solved.
It is a condition to be met.

Holding it open means resisting the urge to pull.
Resisting the urge to time someone else’s readiness.
Resisting the comfort of conclusion.

This isn’t waiting.
And it isn’t passivity.

It’s attention without agenda.

The doorway does its work on its own.
People feel it when they’re near it.
They step through when they’re ready.

Or they don’t.

Nothing is lost either way.

My role is not to usher.
It’s to remain available without pressure.

To keep the threshold visible.
Unforced.
Unclaimed.

Some passages close when named too quickly.
Others collapse when managed.

So I stay where I am, not in front, not behind.

Just here.

Holding the threshold open
long enough for truth to recognize itself.