The Cracked Door

I stand in front of a slightly cracked door
illuminated, casting an image of myself 
as a dark figure forward into the present.
Though I am in a different place now
the same door opens wider than before.
The traditions of the moment recede.
Pieces of scholarship and commentary,
once part of the light, fade to coincidence.
The eternal begins to fit itself into places
where I have never been before.
I need to go, not into any realm of the divine,
but back into the space where I was once blessed.
There I do not need fateful hope
to attend to me like angels granting my every wish.
Instead I find my blessings from within
and from without the slightly cracked door.