Wednesday, January 21, 2015


"He was a small man," Elizabeth Kenton said,
"but not so small that he could pass through a slit in the wall - if he could get up there."
"Not that small, I think."
He was different today, making ready for something.

 I thought about those words when I looked at a picture I had taken several days ago. They were written in Walter Havighurst's book The Heartland about a prisoner who slipped his way our of a jail in the dead of night. [Chapter 7: Simon Kenton's Prisoner].

 Odd that I'd read those words and think back to this small slit and connect the two.

 My slit is between two trunks of a single tree. There is enough room between them to let air pass and just enough vision slip through to see snow beyond. It's sort of like a prison at this near angle.

 I think the trick is to always back up, take a wider view. Even in a prison cell, there are no shackles on imagination. The body might be held tight while the mind escapes. And maybe, in those rare circumstances, like the prisoner above, the body will slyly follow.

 We are often prisoners of of our ideas, constrained by what we think we know. Start anew, believe nothing, build again from the ashes of your prejudice. Your foundation will be stronger for it and in the end you'll find the freedom of escape.

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