Caged!

When we speak of cages, we imagine vertical bars spaced about 4 inches apart, just enough to put one’s hands through and grab. I live in a modern, democratic society that cages those found guilty after trial for committing a crime. While I sat here in my 10 feet by 12 feet room, pounding on the keys of my computer, a gentle breeze brushed across my face and hands. I barely heard someone outside yell ‘Delivery..’ when I felt gut punched, blown away and painfully grabbing onto steel bars, spitting in rage and shaking them with all my might, attempting to escape. I am perceived as free; my reality being caged! I am unsure of my crime, was not presented at trial and received no judgment. Yet, I am behind bars, in solitary and repenting on my unknown crimes.

The first question I asked myself was ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ to which I would ride a train of thoughts that leave the tracks, fly across the moon and disappear into the universe. Sadly, I have lost quite a bit of train sets in this manner, finally succumbing to hopelessness. So I slumped back on the cold, hard concrete floor, slouched and weak from attempting to escape. My new reality was the cage. I had no choice but to accept. A few minutes later, I regained my strength and wondered how I could redesign the interior: maybe clean up the sheets, dust the pillow, brush off the stains, paint the bars and even light some incense. It didnt seem so bad afterwards. It was definitely no longer a cage, clean and expunged of dirt and crassness. Almost holy. Instantly, I had achieved purpose.

Looking around, the second question I asked myself was ‘what do I do now?’. This new reality was strange but acceptable. However, it was not quite there yet. To keep the stains off the mattress, I had to brush every few hours. There was a leak in the ceiling and I couldnt reach it no matter how high I tried to jump. The draught of wind that surged through the bars upset the sheets which I continuously tried to neaten up. It also scratched the paint in the shape of fingernail markings. I constantly shifted between painting the bars and readjusting the sheets while having to brush the mattress simultaneously. It was infuriatingly tiresome and after what seemed like a week, I slouched back down, covered in paint, dust and having lost my sanity.

Suddenly I heard a noise. Soft and paced, as if the draught of wind that blew past the bars was sucked slowly through glass tubes that rolled over and knock on a brass plate. I realised I had passed out on the floor. It was dark outside but something golden winked at me from beyond the bars. I imagined it was a round object as the twinkle wasnt straight; it arched into the blackness. The hollow swoosh of the wind through the glass made me feel hopeful, yet empty at the same time. How did I know it was glass? I imagined an aircon machine built of glass and a brass pot placed somewhere nearby. And then I saw it. Right infront of me were glass pipes sucking in air, quivering and knocking on the plate. This seemed absurd and yet the only thing that made me feel alive and wanting to know more. I reached out to touch the glass through the bars to make sure this was real. I had to. The alternative was something I could not handle. As I reached out further and further, the cage began to tilt. My fingertips were almost touching the glass when the bed and mattress flung forward from the back of the cage, denting all the bars and shattering the glass outside. As the bed steel smashed into my skull, I knew my third question ‘why didnt I break the cage before?’

Rays of light poured in lightly through the fabric. I sat up focusing while a gentle breeze brushed across my face and hands. I could still feel the cold, hard concrete on my back and the raw steel of the bars against my palms. But I couldnt exactly see it. My fingers ran across the keyboard and I heard someone outside yell ‘..guy is at the door’. I didnt seem to want to care. Something inside had shifted and all I could do was breathe and wonder what the pain in my stomach was. Had I fallen asleep? Was I dreaming? I needed to move. As I got up from my chair, the light fell on the clock on the wall; its golden frame lit bright while the glass pendulum clinked softly against it. Time could tell. The light would show. In that instance vague memories of questions returned as instinctive guidance: Break the cage first. Create your reality next. This is your journey!