Prisons feel comfortable. Even though one hates them. One might beat at the walls, rattle the doors and crave the little patch of sky that one can see from a miniscule window (a recurring dream-theme with me). But at the end of it all, we love our prisons.
Moving out of a prison is frightening. Freedom is frightening. Whenever I have seen movies, and seen scenes where the protagonist comes out of prison, breathes the free air, looks up at the sky and what it represents, one secretly realizes the fear that the open sky must generate.
Freedom, to think, to feel, to believe, to act requires a tremendous amount of faith – faith in ourselves, in the cosmos. One needs the faith that the required doors will open, that we will have the required will to walk out of that door, that we will have the courage to deal with what all it will entail, and of course the courage to face final act of being in the open itself. No walls to protect. No external, imposed order. One’s own rules. One’s own responsibility.
… to be continued …