shaking the bars
"I'm reminded," he begins, "of a famous cartoon. It's of a prisoner, shaking the bars, desperately trying to get out--but to his right and left, it's open, no bars." He pauses, allowing the image to sink in. "All the prisoner has to do is walk around . But still, he frantically shakes the bars. That's most of us. We feel completely stuck, trapped in our emotional cells, but there's a way out-as long as we're willing to see it." I close my eyes and take a breath. I start by picturing the prison, a tiny cell with drab walls. I picture the metal bars, thick and gray and rusty. I picture myself in an orange jumpsuit, furiously shaking those bars, pleading for release. I picture my life in this tiny cell with nothing but...the prospect of a dismal, constrained future. I imagine screaming, "Get me out of here! Save me !" I envision myself looking to my right, then to my left, then doing a double take...as the realization hits ...