There came a day when the woman no longer sat beside the gate with longing. She sat in peace. The ache had softened; the waiting had ripened into wisdom. She had not forced the gate to open – she had learned to bloom beside it.
And so, the garden began to whisper to her.
Not in language, but in the light.
Not in command, but in invitation.
“The key is withing you now,” the whisper said.
“Not to open the gate for yourself... but for another.”
And so, she waited again – but not in sorrow. This time, she waited like a sunrise waits for the horizon.
Then, one evening, as the light curled golden across the stones, a soul appeared.
This soul was weary.
Wounded.
Still clutching pieces of themselves they did not yet know who to lay down.
They did not speak.
They only looked at her.
And in that gaze – the woman saw the reflection of who she once was:
The one sitting.
The one aching.
The one hoping someone would see her through the veil.
She stood, quietly.
Walked to the gate.
And opened it.
Not to walk through.
But to show them it could be done.
The soul at the gate sat still, trembling softly.
How can she see me? They thought.
I did not call out. I have hidden so much.
I am not ready to be known.
But the women did not stare.
She simply knelt – not lower than them, not above – but beside.
And in that quiet gesture, something in the soul began to thaw.
“I don’t understand,” the soul whispered.
“You opened the gate...for me?”
The woman smiled.
Not with her lips, but with her whole being.
“I opened it,” she said gently, “because I remember what it felt like...to sit where you’re sitting. To feel unseen.
To ache and not know why.
To wait for someone to come and say: You matter. You’re not too much.
You’re not too broken.”
The soul’s eyes filled – not with sorrow, but recognition.
“But I don’t know how to walk through,” they said.
“I’m afraid of who I’ll be without all of the armor I’ve worn.”
The woman touched her own heart and then theirs.
“You won’t be alone,” she said.
“And you don’t need to rush. Sometimes, we just need to know the gate is open – and that someone will sit with us until we’re ready.”
The soul sat in silence for a long while.
The sun dipped lower. The garden glowed, bathed in a golden hush. And the gate – wide open – did not beckon or demand.
It simply was.
The woman remained at their side, saying nothing more.
And it was that – her quiet presence, her knowing – that stirred something ancient within the soul.
Not a voice.
Not a command.
But a remembering.
They stood. Slowly. Unevenly.
Their legs, unused to movement without the weight of fear, shook at first but the earth beneath them held firm. The woman’s eyes met theirs with no urgency, no expectation.
Only Love.
And so...
They took a step.
Just one.
And the garden breathed.
Not in a celebration or fanfare, but in welcome.
As if it had been waiting all along.
If you are the soul sitting outside the gate – know that the gate is open. You are not too far gone, not too heavy, not too late.
And if you are the one who has sat and healed – May you one day rise with quiet grace and open the gate for someone else. Not to walk ahead of them, but to walk with them until they remember how to move again.
You are the garden.
You are the gate.
You are the keeper and the key.
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