Oh so many prisons. Personal; mental, spiritual. Physical; Professional, routine. Sometimes we feel…
I’m going crazy, I’m going crazy.
Being a Jailbird.”
But let me dig on this. This is something that can only be concluded after some cognizant train of thought,but if it weren’t for prisons we wouldn’t value our freedom to the extent that some of us do. Some of us, the cognizant few. But let’s break it down…
Mental: There are several degrees, or wards, if you will, in this prison. From temporary insanity due to a rush of hormones blasting through your chest and bursting into words…damn, that girl is fine af, Imma do some crazy shit to break down her wall, to bipolar mania that only the ones lucky/unklucky enough to have experienced this high know.
Spiritual: This prison has three floors. On the ground floor you have spiritual void; individuals who have perhaps not yet tapped into this realm, and maybe never will. But these have no god but the god they know. They are limited by their own knowledge, their own world view. They trust no one. Only themselves. These are the individualists. Hans Solo. The second floor is those that feel the breeze of some sort of faith, but they can’t put their finger on it. They’ve tapped in with just the tip. They are bound by their fear to give into something greater than themselves…whatever…it…may…be. Then, the third floor, that’s where the riots happen. Where you see prisoners hanging the innocent that live below. Where all egos collide, and sadly, they don’t realize they mostly coincide. Christians we’re once Jews. Yam Kippur to you all by the way. Jews and Arabs we’re once part of the same tribe (you can read up on Abraham, and his two sons here). These are bound, tied and twisted by their narrow perception of the reality of it all…we are all family, and we all seek to live in God to the best of our abilities. The extremists are those that have followed the wolf clothed in sheep’s skin. I’m not even going to bother with these; they are not worth my time.
Professional: Do you like what you do for a living? You make it work. You don’t? You’re a prisoner. You say you love what you are doing? You make that shit art, no matter what you do.
Routine: Sometimes, we’re just afraid of venturing off into the unknown. Be brave. Break the mold.
Value your mental, spiritual, professional and physical freedom. Now, protect it with fire.
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