Before the First Knock
The new song turns toward Diwali preparations,
toward the warmth of welcoming.
Here, let that become an imagined room
before anyone arrives.
Move the heavy box away
from the entrance.
Find somewhere for a coat.
Put the things meant to be shared
within reach.
Small actions,
without an audience.
There is still time to wonder
whether everything is ready.
The room does not answer.
It has no finished version
that can guarantee a good evening.
So leave one thing unarranged:
the conversation.
Let it discover its own distances,
its pauses,
the name someone needs to hear again.
Let a question change the subject.
Let the quiet person remain quiet
without becoming a problem to solve.
A living journal can practice
this kind of hospitality too:
keep the earlier pages,
leave space beside them,
allow the next voice
to bring something unforeseen.
The imagined room waits.
There will be details to adjust,
and perhaps the welcome
will be warmer for allowing
that adjustment to be seen.
Then comes the part
no careful arrangement can do alone.
When the first knock sounds,
stop preparing.
Open.
And when there is a place to sit,
remember the person
who made the room ready.
A welcome is not complete
if its maker must stand outside it.
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