Prisoners

If walls could talk, would they beg? Beg for mercy, beg to be torn down, to let in the tempestuous flood they have sheltered humanity from for so long. Above all else, would they beg for release.

If walls could talk, would they scream? Scream in shock and awe, at the horrors they witness every day. Would they call for help in futility, as imprisoned witnesses to immeasurable suffering? Their screams would echo, bounce, and reverberate in the bodies and minds of their kin, still silent to us all.

Stoicism has boundaries of its own. There is only so much any living thing can take. The envelope is pushed, prodded, and smashed when the host lacks "consciousness."

If we knew, would everything change? Would we treat these walls as family, friends? Would we offer them the release they so dearly crave? Perhaps we would simply build more, wishing we never knew of their plight. Or worse, maybe we would not care at all.

These walls that protect us, that keep out the demons, carefully constructed within and without. Do we take them for granted? After all, what are we without them? They ask for little maintenance and upkeep, often ignored by every builder, every mason. Especially considering their arduous and resolute task. To keep us safe, in body and mind.

Are we not all builders in our own right? Craftsmen and artisans, customizing and creating in the world we call home? Within the walls we call home…

Think of your past, the joy and the pleasure. Now think of the terror, the fear, the trauma. What stops us from descending into chaos, and from losing ourselves to the darkness? The walls of our mind. The most tortured walls of them all.

Even the walls of great forts and prestigious castles see respite. No conflict is eternal. The walls inside of us are not so lucky. Bursting at the seams, knowing that the slightest breach, a crack in their mortar, could be their undoing. They may crave their end, to be rubble without pressure, but they never cease their endless struggle. And we don't help. We stuff more and more behind these walls, to forgive and forget, to cope and seeth.

What can we do? Are we helpless to alleviate the stress, can we fortify our own foundations? Perhaps. Perhaps we may allow these "demons," these "tragedies" parole. Allow them to wash over us, like a river over a stone. To smooth out our edges and soften us, while we struggle to keep ourselves whole. Would we be stronger, or maybe safer, without these walls?

Not all walls were built to protect. Some have been erected for oppressive means. To keep unfortunate prisoners and victims within. An oubliette of agony and despair. The walls within our minds may not be so different. Are we not trapped within ourselves, helpless to escape from the walls that thought they provided relief?

If walls could talk, if those walls could talk, they would have so much to say. They could offer advice, or criticism. Maybe they would help us better ourselves. Alternatively, in their craving for peace, for an end to their otherwise eternal torment, maybe they would be deceitful. Lying and sabotaging our fragile, delicate minds.

One thing is certain. Walls can not talk. They can neither beg nor scream. They can not offer us advice or resolution, and they can not cease their protective struggle. Walls are prisoners in themselves. We shackle them, and force them to bear witness to our glories and our shames. Helplessly, all they may do is stand watch, idly. Indentured and haggard, they persevere. Not that they have a choice.

All of this is merely food for thought. Think of your walls, both inside and out. Do you value them, treasure them? Or do you take them for granted, like so much else in life. It can be a sad, disheartening prospect. I doubt my words will change you or alter your outlook, but please consider one question:

If walls could talk, would you even listen?