Healing Beyond the Bars

Several years back, I experienced a wakeful dream during a time of reflection. It was in scenes and sequences that were movie-like. 

To set the scene, it was during a time when horses and wagons or your feet were the only modes of transportation. The little podunk town was made up of a single dirt road lined with a saloon, a hotel, a building supply store, a general store, a church, and a sheriff's department. A jail cell in the one-man sheriff's office sat in the back. 

As the dream began, I was in the cell, but the door was cracked open. The entrance to the sheriff's department was also ajar. Oddly, I was free to leave but chose to stay. Initially, the sheriff was nowhere to be seen.

My mischievous side wanted to escape in some unsuspecting way. Which compounded my dismay when I couldn't bring myself to walk out. 

Then, unexpectedly, the sheriff appeared and said, "You are free to leave!" There was relief in the permission, but I feared that I would be brought back. What was the point? I didn't move. The familiarity of staying was comforting. It was predictable, and it felt safe. 

The sheriff stepped outside the office and yelled for me to come out. There was a greater pull to step out of the cell now that I had been abandoned and felt more alone.

But I refused; I was familiar with being alone, and the overwhelming fear of the unknown paralyzed me.

Suddenly, the entire jail cell with me in it was teleported outside onto the dirt road in the middle of town.

It was unnerving to now be in the open air but with four walls of bars and the door cracked open. The experience made me anxious, fearing where the jail cell would be teleported next. 

I wondered if this was my life, relinquishing my desire for freedom so that I could feel safe and secure behind bars of my own choosing. But something didn't feel right. Could I find a way to live in freedom while behind bars, or was I only free when I stepped outside?

As the dream continued, I took some time to notice a few things. Being in the jail cell was all I knew, and there was comfort in being captive. There was predictability within the bars; I didn't identify as a prisoner but learned how to act like one.

It was weird and nuanced; there was something inside me that affirmed that I was born to live beyond the bars, but I couldn't embrace the pathway even though it was apparent. 

It was hard to determine what kept me inside the cage. Was it fear of the new land of freedom or the unknowns of how to live in freedom, or that I believed I didn't deserve to be free?

Whatever way I looked at it, my body would respond a little differently. Sometimes, it was anxious and flooded; other times, it became angry, ready to attack. Sometimes, I collapsed, making myself into a ball and remaining as still as possible; other times, I was numb, unable to feel anything. 

My body had so many conflicting emotions and experiences that it was hard to perceive walking through the cracked door into freedom, even when I desperately longed for it.

It was strange. I intuitively knew that walking away or denying the existence of the jail cell was not helpful. There was something more to uncover.

As I looked beyond the bars, I noticed the sky, the earthen clay, a plant that had sprouted in a crack in the dirt, and the vast open space. As my body settled, my senses became sensitive to my surroundings. The jail cell became more fluid and less harsh. 

In this heightened awareness, my ear was beckoned to listen to a still, small voice deep within singing a song akin to my soul. A piece affirming my belovedness and drawing me to rest in the gaze of Love. 

The experience was slowly shifting from choosing to remain stuck behind bars to compassionately and gently being curious with my deeply wounded soul and heart. Time seemed to stand still as I stopped to listen deeply without an agenda. What was the whole story? 

I began to notice that it wasn't bars of metal or steel that kept me in the jail cell. Instead, the bars were shame, fear, judgment, pain, suffering, blame, trauma, being misunderstood, sadness, metered joy, anger, and contempt. I was a victim of some of these things, others I had done to myself, and others I had harmed others with. Accepting that I was capable of great good and great harm was humbling.

As I inspected the thickness and heaviness of these bars of pain and suffering, I began to recognize that they wouldn't go away if I were inside the jail cell or outside of it. Instead of bars, they would become boulders in a backpack I would heft onto my back if I ever chose to walk out. Whatever the case, there was abundant compassion for my broken spirit as a caged animal or a weary traveler. 

I relented, recognizing that whether I was in the cell or out, shame, fear, and trauma wouldn't disappear; they were all a part of being human.

As if by some miracle, the bars began to slowly dissolve. It initially scared me to imagine life without these bars because I wasn't sure who I would be without them. These bars had shaped me, yet they kept me from a life of freedom and wholeness. 

So, I did what I knew to do in response to my fear and shame; I cocooned myself in self-protection. In my mind, I re-erect the bars. I wasn't ready to live without them just yet. 

Deep within, I was affirmed that my autonomy and dignity to move at my pace would shepherd me to greater wholeness and healing. Being present with my whole self and Love's presence was a narrow gate to walk through.

One at a time, the re-erect bars morphed into large rocks that I tenderly and thoughtfully carried with me as I ventured outside the imprinted cell. I gained the confidence to test if there were limitations to compassion, acceptance, Love, and kindness. I was unearthing a greater awareness of my hidden self and its messy, beautiful story. I also discovered what it felt like to live in freedom while healing from past traumas, grief, and pain.

As I became more familiar with the landscape of liberty, I realized that freedom didn't mean I would arrive one day at being fully healed or all my rocks and bars would cease to exist.

Freedom was venturing into wide-open landscapes of compassion and acceptance while noticing that the boulders I once carried were now rocks, crystals, and treasures that bore no weight. Instead, they refract the soul's light, expanding the radiance once dimmed by bars and boulders.

Please take a moment to be curious.
Where did you experience resonance? What part of the story did you notice yourself silently nodding?

Where was there resistance? What part of the story did you notice a tightening or pulling away?

What does kindness look like as you go about your day?