One must cross a thousand thresholds to reach the heart of the temple
Some years back, I was fortunate to have participated in a pilgrimage to Buddhist temples in China with my son and his wife, our guide. This was her home country and this was her heritage. The journey went backwards in time from a temple built in this century to one used more than two thousand years ago. It seemed as if each temple had a higher doorway threshold than the one before, and consequently presented greater difficulty in crossing. They were not just lines on the ground, not a strip of metal, nor a flat length of wood. They had thickness and height. They were painted vividly. They held great importance, I would discover later. The first thing I learned upon entering my first temple was not to let my feet touch the threshold. One was so high, I needed assistance from my son to cross it. Doorframes and doors were not to be touched either. All of these were sacred boundaries of spiritual realities.
But before we experienced the temples, we had to get to the top of the mountain peaks where they were located. The old, beat-up mountain bus could only get us so far on the narrow, rutted, dirt road that zig-zagged up the mountain. We had to climb the rest of the way up on steep, hand-hewn stone steps (with no railings), through the clouds and against the wind. Pausing halfway to catch my breath, I looked up. I could not see the temple, yet. I looked back. I could no longer see the bus parked on the edge of the mountainside. I was deep between the worlds and very disoriented. But I was determined to reach the temple doors. My will alone would get me there. On the high terrace, at the top of the stairs, was a stone bridge over a narrow stream. I could hear chanting and the clanging of bells in the distance but could see only a faint shadow of the temple through the mist.
We crossed the bridge and then, under red and gold lanterns, we stepped over the threshold through the brightly painted doors of the temple. A breathtaking world of color and incense and sound unfolded before us. It was hard for me to believe it was real. I felt I had crossed over into another world!
While following the circuit of devotionals for the many Buddhas and Bodhisattvas within the temple, my son and I lost sight of my daughter-in-law. We stepped through the nearest doorway to find her.
What we found was a dreamscape. Greyness completely enveloped us. Our feet were on a smooth, grey stone terrace in a very dense, grey mist. I could barely see my hand in front of my face. This clearly was not the way we came in! We took a few tentative steps forward, and out of the mist, a beautiful larger-than-life statue emerged in a darker shade of grey. A graceful Bodhisattva, in a dancing pose, her sculpted garments extended in frozen undulation, holding a traditional Chinese musical instrument in her graceful hands. As we moved closer to her in awe, another one materialized a few yards behind her. We seemingly floated from one to the next. There were many, leading us further and further away from the temple. The sound of chanting and the pungent scent of incense faded as we advanced one little step at a time. There were moments when the swirling mist was so thick, we could not see where our feet were. Had we been magically transported into some different dimension for a reason? Or were we trespassing in a mysterious realm? We had no idea where we were…or how to get back! We could no longer see the doorway we had come through. Nor could we hear the chanting or smell the incense. We felt we were on our own in a strange world.
Eventually, my daughter-in-law found us, her voice and her form materializing in the mist. She guided us back through the temple and down the steep steps to the bus. On the bumpy ride back down the mountain, I contemplated my journey. I tried to count all the thresholds in all the temples I had crossed that day. Each one took me further away from my reality and deeper into…what? A place within my soul that remembered something hidden beyond knowing and that exalted in the mysterious newness of the experience. I had had to leave behind all that I thought I knew, to fully embrace it. I was forever changed.
I realized each aspect of the journey had its own threshold, not just the physical doorways. There were many shifts in paradigms, like layers, each one leading deeper to the next. Riding the bus from the village at the foot of the mountain to the steep stone steps was crossing a threshold. Climbing through the wind and mist to reach the top was crossing another. Every experience, mundane or numinous, had a threshold. Even time itself was a threshold. And there was magic behind and within each one!
But that is what life consists of, isn’t it? Crossing thresholds. It became clear to me that there are always thresholds available to us, offering opportunities beyond imagining, if we are curious enough to cross them and access the magic within them.
So, where are they in your world? Most of them are hidden where we don’t think to look.
Find them.
