The Secret of Box Cages

It’s hard to box people—

the trick is to get them to box themselves.

But no one willingly

walks into a cage.

So the trick is to hold out a gift

but offer subtle poison instead.

Slowly the person is blinded—

they do not see the iron bars being welded

they do not see the cardboard raised as walls.

Slowly the person is deafened—

the sounds of the construction of their prison

never reach their ears.

Slowly the person loses their other senses—

one perception at a time

one landmark at a time.

Like water dripping in a cave

carves the rock

slowly, slowly,

the person can no longer recognize

where they are.

They cannot learn a way back—

back to a person who saw, felt, trusted

back to a place they could call home.

The box prison has become familiar

yet it offers no succor.

It is just the way it is.

The way, if memory serves, it always has been.

Why bother trying to escape

that which is intractable

intricately explainable

so natural and deserved?

But humans were not meant to live in cages.

We are not destined to our boxes.

What options are left to the forgotten?

The maliciously, fastidiously lost?

I remember seeing newborn giraffes—

all spindly legs, long neck, awkward.

They must stumble to their feet

find the strength to stand firm, to walk

to run, to gallop

the same day they are born to the world.

Humans are lucky—

no one expects us to flee for our lives

minutes after our birth.

If we learned to lift our neck

to stand, to eat, to speak

to walk, match socks, bake cookies

all the things we learn slowly, slowly—

we have it in us to find our way.

Can we harness that power

to determine our road home?

We will need help at first, certainly—

we come to discover the box cage we are in.

The lid is opened to let in the light—

the blindfold is removed

ah, the light is harsh at first!

Slowly, slowly, we train to see again—

darkness coalesces to shadows

the monotones become colors

the flat becomes textured

and one day, one day, we regain vivid multidimensional sight.

The earmuffs forced upon us are removed

the wax we placed in our ears ourselves taken out—

ah, the torturous noise at first!

It hurts to hear so much.

Slowly, slowly, we train to be comfortable

in the cacophony—

we can distinguish speech from music

learn the meanings behind the sounds

and one day, one day, we regain our variegated hearing.

Our limbs are unbound—

ah, the cruel ache of muscles atrophied!

The struggle to regain strength once taken for granted

becomes worth it.

Slowly, slowly, our limbs are ours again—

we can feel temperature and weight

we can wiggle toes and flex fingers

and one day, one day, we can move fully, independently.

Our voices return to us

quietly, warmly, incrementally

like colors added to a paint book

we can whisper, argue, sing, scream

and one day, one day, we develop that inside voice—

the source of trust, inspiration, love, and faith

that never actually failed us

but was silenced with exquisite care.

It, too, can be ours again.

Is it like a second puberty without hormonal interference?

An awakening, a healing, a growing

a different set of hurdles

that teenage challenges, quagmires, and peer pressure offered

but slowly, slowly

kindly, patiently

with love and thoughtfulness

emotions unleashed

and some resculpted

we come out of our boxes—

those cages no one deserves.

Ah, the terror of wide-open spaces!

as we leave the confinements behind

-that odd disorientation of being free at last-

and it’s okay that this uncertainty is scary.

We were originally driven to our cages by fear.

Instead we can embrace fear, challenge it, redefine it

so it is something never to be weaponized again—

and one day, one day, our lives are fully ours once more.