Gates

What's the purpose of a gate? To let things and people in, to let things and people out; to keep things and people in, to keep things and people out.

My house has three gates. Small, medium and large. And they fit their purpose. When the kids forget to close the gates, we get unwanted animals, trash and sometimes people in our yard. As such, I have been thinking a lot about gates.

Our minds need gates. And perhaps surveillance, with monitors and a guard tower. And guns. Our minds are the driving forces of our physical bodies, our control and command center. People can do incredible, almost super-human things with their minds...or terrible, horrible, unthinkable things. The thoughts start in the mind then work their way out. One of my favorite musicians has a line in their song Slow Fade which says that "the journey from your mind to your hands is shorter than you're thinkin'." And it's true.

I proved it this morning. I told myself I'd eat healthy today, and until 9:30Am while cleaning out the fridge, I did just that. But then, at the back of the fridge, all squished up in a much too large Ziplock bag was the homemade chocolate and peanut butter cups dd2 had made. I couldn't throw them out, for that'd be wasteful. And I couldn't save them for when the kids came home from school, as there weren't enough for everyone. So, despite my earlier pep talk to myself, I dove into the bag like a fish into water and devoured (yes, devoured) the entire bag's worth. I even licked my fingers. So much for the pep talk.

Intentions. Don't most people have good intentions? Good people and bad alike? (As if there were some vast difference.) A good intention would be to keep the gate closed so the puppy doesn't run out into the street and get hit by the car that was speeding, and then have to be taken to the Vet who, after you've forked out hundreds of dollars, gives from the charity of his heart to sew little beloved doggie back together... But the good intention didn't work it's way out, and the puppy got hit, and the wife got mad (for she'd said, "Make sure you close the gate so the dog doesn't run out and get hit by a car."), and there were even more bills to pay. Good intentions lost over to an open gate. Sometimes open gates can bring much pain, followed by high cost.

We have good intentions everyday, or at least, I do. But I am finding that my good intentions cannot compete with my nature. Intentions verses Nature. The nature of man. Or, the nature of woman, more appropriately. And thus, I need a gate.

I need a gate on my mind to keep out what my Good Intentions have decided must stay out. A gate to keep inside what my Good Intentions say should stay in. A gate to act as a form of defense against the storm that wages; a gate to help defer the strangers that walk by and think they may want to stop in, snoop around, possibly steal and/or destroy. A gate to help protect what needs protecting, and a gate to remind me where the boundaries are, in case my Good Intentions take a nap and I suddenly catch amnesia as to what's right and what's wrong. (Though I don't necessarily think eating leftovers stashed at the back of the fridge was wrong, my thighs do say that is wasn't helpful.) I need a gate, and sometimes, perhaps a guardsman to stand at the gate, so that when trouble comes, it may not linger as long as it would were the post empty.

For if the gate is breached, especially in the midst of battle, how much more pain and loss there is, were the gate firmly staffed and gaurded.

And now, thanks to caller ID I have yet another call from the State, my pitiful analogy of gates must come to a close.

Don't forget: lock the gate.