So you might say that you’re not in prison, and you’ve never been in prison. Someone who knows you might disagree, and pinpoint the exact reason you’ve always been in prison, and maybe always will be. It’s clearly not as easy to define as a bricks-and-mortar prison. But it also means that, once seen, the metaphorical prison is easier to escape than the real one. In fact, sometimes, simply seeing it is enough for the metaphorical walls to dissolve.
But, if a degree of consciousness is assumed, then we’re probably in the land of definition disagreement. Or at least, you’re happy with the apparent ‘limits’ that exist in your life. You may be conscious that your dialectic materialism has had its philosophical day, that it probably limits you, but you’re happy with your life within those confines, so that’s that.
Others see their confines and want out. Still others don’t even know they’re ‘in.’
Though you might think that walls and bars are daily reminders of being ‘inside,’ they become invisible after a while. Other prisoners surround a prisoner… not the free. Prison life, after a while, feels normal. So other issues replace the issue of ‘I’m in prison and I’d like to get out.’ If you live in Nondescript-and-a-Bit-Ugly town – every country has one or several, so you know where I’m talking about wherever you are (in the UK it’s probably Dartford) – then you’re surrounded every day by other people who live there, too. There are very few outsiders to tell you how awful the place is, or how lovely, say, another town is (in the UK that’s probably Canterbury – a not-too-distant but more pleasant place). And even those who do visit, a) get out quickly and b) wouldn’t tell you how awful it is because (particularly if they’re British) they’re too polite. After a while of living there, surrounded by other people who live there, you effectively forget you’re in hell.
This is a good enough reason to travel far and regularly: to cleanse yourself of the hypnotic and deadening effect of the wrong kind of acceptance.
So for the prisoners who forget they’re in prison (or for the citizen of Dartford who never travels), he or she’s likely to remain in prison for a good/bad long time.
Why does it matter if they’ve forgotten? (You’ll find out soon in Why Would We Want to Get Out of Prison?)
There’s the scene in The Shawshank Redemption (see Appendix II: Our Top Five Prison Movies) when the old guy who’s been in prison forever is finally released. In the 40-odd years he’s been behind bars, the outside world has changed unrecognizably. He’s shocked by every aspect of an alien modern world – from the honking cars to the harsh working world. Within days, he’s hanged himself. (Sorry to give that away if you haven’t already seen it, though it’s not the actual ending. If you can’t be bothered to watch the movie and want to know the ending, and you’d like to ruin it for friends and family who also haven’t seen it but can be bothered to watch it, turn to Appendix IV aptly titled The Ending of The Shawshank Redemption.)
We are probably most free as children. Being free comes naturally. We don’t have to make any effort to be free. We don’t have to steel ourselves, or face our fears, in order to do something. We just do it. But as we grow up and build the walls around ourselves, and become accustomed to being in our prisons, and surround ourselves with other prisoners, the very idea of being ‘outside’ can scare us. It’s such a long time since we experienced true freedom that we don’t know whether we could cope with it. It means that, even though we might occasionally venture out of our prisons (e.g., when we’re visiting another country or place, or have a few glasses of wine), we very soon return to the safety of the high walls around us.
This lack of familiarity with the outside, this underlying fear of the freedom we experienced perpetually when we were younger, means that – even for those of us who crave freedom and consciously try to break down the various walls of our prisons – we end up back in the safety of prison.
We’re repeat offenders. And some people live their lives like this. They live through times when they’re trapped, and feel trapped, but don’t seem to be able to find a way out or a way through. Then they manage to escape and enjoy freedom, make huge changes in their lives, but then slowly slip back into patterns, relationships, jobs, or places that trap them again.
Some people would argue that we’re all lifers: that very few people have the good fortune in their lifetimes to experience true freedom, which is usually defined as an experience of ‘enlightenment,’ and usually signifies a recognition of reality as a kind of imprisoning dream. True reality (i.e., outside the prison) is another ‘enlightened’ form of consciousness.
We could argue (and will do so toward the end of this book) that the opposite is true: we’re all free; it’s just that we can’t see it. Instead, we see we’re ‘trapped’ and crave ‘freedom.’ In fact, the natural process seems to be something like this:
We start free, as children, but without realizing it, because we know nothing else.
We grow up and lose our freedom, without realizing it.
We’re in prison, but don’t realize it (and might not realize it for the whole of our lives, in which case we are unconscious lifers).
We realize we are in prison, and strive to break down the walls and, usually, with the help of some good F**k It Therapy, we succeed.
We experience freedom, then occasionally slip back into prison, but with consciousness and a good bit of F**k It, we’re able to get out again.
We finally see that all states are fine, that being in prison is the same as being outside prison when we live in full consciousness.
But I’ve just told you the ending. The thing is, unlike the ending of The Shawshank Redemption, no matter how many times you read about it, you don’t usually understand it until you’ve gone through all the above steps: so it’s like me telling you the ending of The Shawshank Redemption (again, see Appendix IV), but you not being able to understand a word of it until you’ve watched the whole movie.
So, what’s the point of mentioning it? F**k It, why not?