I dreamed that Mikhail Baryshnikov was, if not in love, fully willing to spend the night with me. I feel a sort of destiny about him, that one day our paths will cross. I will be dancing alone in a room, and he will open the door.
Opening and closing doors on my own is a different issue. It may be mostly the deceptively simple act of remembering or forgetting the doors are there. And then the tricky issue of the door-keeper, sponsored by nefarious interests, the least admirable parts of myself. Or, if we are to look to Mediterranean deities:
"But before Janus, or Dianus, or Juppiter, married Jana or Diana or Juno, and put her under subjection, he was her son, and she was the White Goddess Cardea. And though he became the Door, the national guardian, she became the hinge which connected him with the door-post....Cardo, the hinge, is the same word as cerdo, craftsman - in Irish myth the god of craftsmen who specialized in hinges, locks, and rivets was called Credne - the craftsman who originally claimed the goddess Cerdo or Cardea as his patroness. Thus as Janus's mistress, Cardea was given the task of keeping from the door the nursery bogey who in matriarchal times was her own august self and who was propitiated at Roman weddings with torches of hawthorn. Ovid says of Cardea, apparently quoting a religious formula, 'Her power is to open what is shut; to shut what is open.'"
- Robert Graves, The White Goddess
