Freedom Chain
I try for a long time to get out of this. The chain is much too heavy and it refuses to break or even give a little. The shackle is too tight and I cannot pull my leg free, even though I repeatedly bruise my ankle badly in trying. My hands become numb and my fingernails split in futile effort. At first I am full of resolve to free myself and I put everything I have into this goal. I wrench at the chain and I smash it with smaller rocks. I call for help and I yell at it. Nothing comes close to working, and I am left alone.
As days lead to weeks, I can only resort to anger and depression. One day I start to walk in a circle around this rock. What else can I do? I either sit here and cry, or I can move on. I don't get very far, but at least I'm doing something now. I try to stay as far away from the boulder as I can and I gradually wear down a dirt path around it. My eyes still burn towards the centre.
One day, I stumble along this path a bit and I trip since I'm so tired. As I look up from my knees, I notice that I'm not staring at the rock anymore. I'm now looking outwards at the rest of this open field. For the first time, I notice the forest that lines the edge of the field. All of a sudden, I hear the small brook that runs nearby. I spot a small bird overhead and I feel the warmth of the sun on my face as I look up.
I sit back in wonder for a long while. How could I have missed all of this beauty around me? I take it all in like a long drink of cool water. My mind stops churning and my muscles relax for the first time in ages. A light wind picks up and blows over me, rustling the grass and brushing my hair.
I finally arise, only to feel that hard tug at my ankle. I start moving in my circle but this time I start walking in the opposite direction. More importantly, this time I keep my eyes on everything around me. I'm still not getting anywhere but now it doesn't seem so bad. I take pleasure in sensing the shadow of a passing cloud and in the song of the small bird. It;s not so bad after all, I decide.
Once in a while, though, that jerk of the chain brings my focus back to the boulder and I am reminded of how I am trapped. Those old feelings jump out at me again and I once again put my full strength into pulling away. At one point, I actually twist my ankle badly and I can't even walk for a few days while it heals.
While I am lying there staring at my pained foot, I am startled to see another set of feet stop directly beside mine. The very first thing I notice is that the one foot has the same markings as my own, the same scars and marks from a chain that was worn for so long. In the next instant, I look up to see a man standing in front of me, the sun shining from just behind him.
Amazing! I jump up to greet him but instead I am met with slicing pain in my leg and I crumple to the ground again, my eyes watering. The man bends down and rests his hand on my shoulder, with only a slight smile on his lips but something so much deeper in his eyes. As I sit there rubbing my ankle, I wait for him to speak but he remains quiet. Such an odd thing, this man appearing out of nowhere and now just kneeling beside me. Twice, I open my mouth to say something but I stop myself because I don't want to be the one to break the silence.
He sits down and looks around at the open field, so I follow his lead and I do the same. After a few minutes, I am again reminded about my own joy in discovering this natural beauty around me. I shake my head as I laugh at myself silently. Of course, of course. How could I have forgotten my own lesson so quickly? This man has obviously learned this lesson as well and he knows the importance of looking outwards. How silly of me. Gradually the sun sets and eventually we lean back and watch the stars as they begin to spark through the night sky.
I awaken the next morning, having had my best sleep in ages. There is a light dew on the grass and I spot a spider-web twinkling with a dew drop. I grin as I acknowledge this and I push myself up on one elbow to finally speak to this man. Only then do I notice that I am alone and he is gone.
In only a few seconds, my mind furiously paces through a series of emotions. Why did this man taunt me in this way? Why did he adandon me like this? Didn't he see my dilemma? Doesn't he know what I have been going through all of this time? And once again, my eyes turn towards this rock and this black ball of bitterness and hate seethes inside of me.
A ray of light strikes my eyes all of a sudden and I cover them with my hand, trying to blink away the spots. I refocus and I glance upwards but no one is there. For a second there, I thought that maybe the man had returned but no, a quick glance around me reveals that I am still by myself.
The distraction was just enough to stir up one tiny, almost imperceptible thought in my head. Confusion sits there for a minute as I try to grasp hold of that fragment. What was it? Down. His feet. The man's feet. He had the same markings on his ankle that I had. He must have been bound by his own chain somewhere else for a long time. How did he get free? There must be a way. I see it now, there must be a way.
The thoughts continue to pile up in my head. I was so happy when I realized that I could look outwards to the life around me. That was only a mirage, though, wasn't it? I had tricked myself into accepting my fate. Despite all of the vibrancy in this field, I cannot move away from this rock of mine. I cannot get to that trickling brook and put my hand into the water. I cannot make my way to the shade of the trees in the distance when the noon day sun beats down on me. I thought that I had found some kind of freedom but only now do I realize that this man, this man... He is the one that has found a true kind of freedom.
I'm still not sure about how to get free of this chain but I am no longer satisfied with walking in circles. There is something better, a freedom that lets me run and jump as far and as fast as I imagine. That's what I want to find. That's what I need to get. I hope that this man will come back to explain this secret to me some day soon but for the moment, this small flame of faith will be enough.
I hope.
12 comments:
Did you write this Jamie? It's beautifully written.
I love it. This will be one story that I come back to read many times.
Yes, I wrote this earlier today. The writing process was awkward and the result isn't anything like the plan I had in my head, but it came out nicely in the end.
As a note to all blogging-type people, if we ever quote a story from someone else and we do not attribute the source, that's tantamount to plagiarism, I think. The moral is, always give credit where credit is due.
More than tantamount, it IS plagiarism (and, in fact, could get you in trouble with copyright laws, depending on what you are quoting).
If you simply quote and give proper citation, you are probably okay. However, if you were to post complete stories or sections of books, without giving proper credit, you could get into even more trouble.
If you posted a post like this one and essentially passed it off as your own work, you would be in very, very serious trouble (if the person were so inclined to come back and copyright-slap you, so to speak).
Just my quick contribution for the day. Nice post though, J. Good writing. Your writing skills are becoming quite nicely refined...good job.
Who needs to do research when you have a lawyer friend walking around, eh? I love it. Thanks, Joel.
Mr. JAG - Are we allowed to offer our interpretation to this great work of literature?
Sherry
Dear Jamie,
I made a decision years ago that I wanted nothing less than what Jesus died for. Out of that decision He began to show me how little I really wanted what I said. I am convinced that most of our experiences in life are meant to deepen our desire until, like you said in your post we are through with our self imposed bondage. I wrote the following about that issue. It cho=ronicles my journey to desiring freedom more than the bondage I loved.
THE WILL TO FREEDOM
While the last battle of the Civil War remains in dispute, the official end of the war was on May 9, 1865 when President Andrew Johnson proclaimed the "the rebellion on land is ended.” After that day there was to be a general release of all slaves throughout the whole of the United States. The concept of freedom, for many, presented a huge problem. They had very little to begin with. The government had given them land but much of it was in a state of unfruitfulness. They had few possessions. There was little work. In the face of the fears and lack of resources many continued on in exactly the same lifestyle of slavery that they had been used to. They had lost the will to be free. What so many had given their lives to give them they now refused to accept. This pattern has been repeated throughout history. When people have been given the opportunity to be free some have embraced it, some have refused it. Fortunately or unfortunately we humans have the ability to choose at least one aspect of our destiny. When given the chance to be free or not we can make a decision that no one can alter.
So we begin with ourselves - do we want to be free?
My desire for freedom began one evening in 1969. I was looking for some excitement and heard that a friend had LSD. I had loved the experience with psychedelics. I had been playing music in nightclubs in and around Oklahoma City since I was 12. I looked much older than my years. I had entered into the world of music, sex and drugs with abandon. I was stoned most days and when I wasn’t I was looking for something to get me there. This night was no different.
When I found my friend he was reluctant to give me what he had. He said that a close friend of ours had taken some the night before and ended up in the hospital nearly dead. I shrugged off the warning. I took what he had left, about twice what our friend had taken and headed home to the party that was happening at my house.
I was sitting on a blanket in the back yard when I started to experience the usual effects of the drug. The girl I was with was laughing at me as I started to talk about cosmic things. It seemed we were on a raft in the middle of an ocean of green. The green waves began to crack open and light began to shine up from the cracks.
From somewhere inside my soul a question began to arise. I had dealt with the question when I was twelve. Two friends and I were walking. On a star filled summer’s eve. The oldest one asked, “Do you believe in God?” I waited for my other friend to answer. He was clear and strong in his denunciation of the One whose stars we were gazing up at. “No I don’t believe in God either” was what came out of my mouth next.
Now five years later for the first time since I was considering the question again. Finally I looked at my companion and said to her, “Do you believe in God and if so does he have anything to do with us?” Her faced registered absolute terror as she said, “You can’t ask those kinds of questions!”
A panic came over me that even in writing this brings me to fear. I watched as the skin peeled off my friend’s face and a horrible skeleton was all that was left. She began to laugh again and it seemed like the laughter came out of hell itself. The hallucinations were no longer of pleasant things. They were hideously evil.
I ran as fast as I could to call a friend to come and get me and take me to the hospital. As I was calling the phone kept melting out of my hand. Finally she was on the line. I begged her to come as fast as she could to get me. When she got there she said she was taking me to her house and not to the hospital since she knew that if she took me there they would most likely arrest me.
I cannot fully describe the feeling of paranoia the over took me for the next three days. I could not sleep. I felt that I had died and gone to the hell that many Christians, including my grand parents, had told me awaited me if I did not allow God into my life. I finally took matches and burned my fingers to convince myself that I was not in hell. I reasoned that if I was in hell nothing could hurt worse than what I was experiencing. On the third day the hallucinations and paranoia began to subside.
I found out later that the lab analysis that had been made on the drug I took that night showed that it had been LSD mixed with strychnine, a common rat poison. My friend who had took it the night before I had was several weeks in the psychiatric ward from only half of what I took. She came very close to dying, and so did I.
Though the outward effects of the drug had subsided the inward ones remained. I was in an almost catatonic state. My thoughts as I look back over that time were completely disconnected. It was as if I lived with only momentary glimpses of sanity. Flashbacks occurred frequently. Trees would become Hydra like monsters. The paranoia would drive me to scream when I thought someone was trying to harm me. I had exchanged my sanity for a moment of pleasure. And now I lived in the worst pain that I could have ever imagined.
Why do we do what we do?
Why do we risk so much?
Why are we driven in a mad chase after something that we never find?
For me it was to escape the world I lived in.
And so it is with every addict I have ever known. We exchange reality for a fantasy. In seeking to be rid of pain we actually embrace it more deeply. And in that embrace comes a bondage stronger than any on earth. A bondage that is a greater prison than stainless steel bars. A captivity more limiting that a ball and chain on our hands and legs.
And no one can free us from it. Not even ourselves. But we will never be free until we desire freedom with everything that is in us.
You know, I really expected the story to end with the chain being the obstacle you assert your freedom against. Like, the existence of the chain is a necassary part of freedom.
Which is, I guess, how Leonard's response ends.
Though I'd insist that freedom is a mad dash, an insane quest - or so it appears from the outside.
There is a giant unmovable boulder in the field – disability. The chain – my inability to free myself from it. I know there must be a better life. There must be something else. I struggle to free myself and am bruised, hurt from the efforts. There is no one to help. I finally decide to try to overcome it myself and begin to walk, but where I can go and what I can do is limited.
I finally tire and become angry/depressed. Everything seems so hard. I look up and see more than my disability. I see what other children have that I don’t. I see what I have been missing (the forest, etc) – after school programs, sports, camp, church programs. I can see and hear it. I want it.
I walk in the other direction – the direction of inclusion in the classroom. The walk becomes a little easier. I’m included. I want to join the others in those extra-curricular activities, but …. that boulder and its chain are stopping me. I am trapped. When I try to go beyond the classroom, I am stopped and fall down.
Then, I meet someone, also with a disability, who was able to participate in inclusion programs away from school. He, too, was bruised, but he was free. He was included. His bruises were a part of him, but the pain was worth his freedom (independence). His boulder remained in the field, but the chain of exclusion was gone for him.
But he didn’t live where I live. He could enjoy the view with me temporarily, but he couldn’t break my chain.
I cannot get free of my boulder. There is no inclusion program for me here. So, I wait, hoping for someone to gather others and start a program so I, and those who don’t have boulders, can learn how to include each other everywhere – not just school. I wait. I pace. I hope.
Sherry
I say AMEN to your interpretation Sherry....beautifully put.
Very creative Jamie.
leonard - I keep coming back here and reading what you wrote - so incredibly powerful.
jamie - you are a very talented writer. Please write more stories.
Sherry
Uh, I seem to have misread Leonard's response... disregard my first comment about it.
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