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Knocking on Heaven’s Door
By Bob Dylan

Mama, take this badge off of me
I can’t use it anymore.
It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see
I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door
Knock knock knockin’ on heaven’s door

Mama, put my guns in the ground
I can’t shoot them anymore.
That long black cloud is comin’ down
I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door.

Bob Dylan’s song used to put me in a melancholy space; decades later, I’d come to understand why. It seemed to me to be the closing words on a lawman’s career; words of sorrow and regret, words that had little to do with me, I reckoned, since law enforcement and shooting people wasn’t a part of my past. Dylan’s song was unsettling, bringing up sadness that was there in me, but I wasn’t ready to open that door; not yet, not for many years. I had grown comfortable with the sadness and afraid of what lay beneath it – a landscape frozen within me, frozen in time, and still, unchanging, and possessing a beauty all its own that I clung to in unspoken desperation – a desolate place that went mostly unnoticed, until Bob’s croon touched me down to a stark surface where the sadness lay. I didn’t like Bob much, because of this; didn’t like how he made me feel. I wrote it off to a raspy voice and kept living my life looking the other way.

There is a season for everything, they say, and so it happened that the quiet loneliness of my winter met with its spring thaw, and the waters of life started flowing again ending my pseudo harmony of repression. Had I answered some deeper voice, as if peering through the latticework of a frozen interior, as if noticing for the first time a vibrant flow, there, in the distance of my soul? My hand went to my heart; the badge upon it was palpable – a blue steel cage I’d built around my heart with edges glistening sharp and a sign on the badge hanging like a black cloud and inscribed with the words “Tragic.” A once dear identity, now snarled back at me, bent, broken, tarnished in the light of a vibrant flow, sighted in the distance deep within my heart and showing me the truth of what I’d made of myself
(continued with Knocking on Heaven’s Door 2)

Nikon D90, 70 mm, ISO 200, 1/1.6 sec, F/22, Gitzo Tripod, Bogen Head, Eastatoe Falls near Rosman NC USA

©Miles A Moody Written and photographic works are the sole property of copyright holder; reproduction in part or in full only with expressed permission or purchase

“LIfe is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away (source unknown).” It is my heartfelt desire to share some of my breath-taking moments, hoping that you also may receive something of enduring benefit.

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  • Miles Moody
    Miles Moodyalmost 5 years ago

    To follow are images of my approach to ’Heaven’s Door.’

  • Miles Moody
    Miles Moodyalmost 5 years ago

  • Miles Moody
    Miles Moodyalmost 5 years ago

  • artisandelimage
    artisandelimagealmost 5 years ago

  • Robert C Richmond
    Robert C Richmondalmost 5 years ago

    I appreciate your descriptive guide via you and Bob Dylan. And yes, I would not have thought first of Bob Dylan for such a winter image. Then again, I would not have expected his own, recent, winter venture, that his new Christmas album is. Nice work on your part for evoking a few thoughts.

  • Thanks so much for stopping by, my friend. It’s an unusual interconnection I’ve made here, for sure. Life is nothing if not interesting in the way it can work out :-)

    – Miles Moody

  • micpowell
    micpowellalmost 5 years ago

    Wonderful detail, great shot.

  • Thanks so much, Mic for stopping by and commenting.

    – Miles Moody

  • izzybeth
    izzybethalmost 5 years ago


  • Again, thank you, my friend. Your comments are much appreciated :-)

    – Miles Moody

  • madvlad
    madvladalmost 5 years ago

    winters gift- to the eyes- of one-who dares to walk the snows of winters,folly and joy

  • Deep, my friend, poetic and mysterious…Seems a nice beginning to a powerful bit of verse.

    – Miles Moody

  • jewd barclay
    jewd barclayover 4 years ago

    Mystical shots…love them

  • Cool, Jewd. Love your perception :-)

    – Miles Moody

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