Locked Doors and Silences

Here are two points of view expressed by poets of unequal stature: Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard / Are sweeter . . . (John Keats) Sharing is caring. (Barney the Purple Dinosaur.) Most human beings have some possessiveness, necessary if we are to survive. We want to find our shoes where we left them last night, because walking to the bus without shoes is not going to be easy or comfortable. So a certain amount of “That’s mine, and it belongs to me,” is understandable. If we go to the refrigerator and find that someone has eaten our food, we are both hungry and upset. But there is also the strong need for generosity within a community. There is a tipping point at which “That’s mine, and you can’t have any of it,” becomes selfishness. Others shouldn’t go hungry so that we can be full. Music, unlike shoes and food, however, does not vanish when it is shared. In fact, any art form I can think of requires an audience. The writer wants her poems read; the painter wants the landscape or the portrait to be seen; the band wants to have people, listening, in the room. Imagine a locked door. Secure, with as many padlocks as you want, or secret codes. You and I don’t have the keys or the codes. We know treasures exist behind the door but we are not allowed in. The keeper of the treasures is not listening to our polite tapping. This is entirely relevant to t