That Box is Full of Himself

I live in a box, we all do. I didn’t used to be able to see that box, now I can if I really try. Inside that box are smaller boxes. Sometimes I get inside one of the smaller boxes for a little while. If baffles my mind that as time passes I dedicate myself more and more to the expansion and increased awareness of the main enveloping box and yet continue to keep these other little boxes around. I sometimes tell myself that I won’t get all the way in this time, I’ll use the opportunity to observe the box. These boxes are tricky, they’re not designed to allow those on the inside to be aware of their existence.

I live in many different boxes, we all do. One for every flavor of my ignorance.

I live in one dynamic box, we all do. Sometimes it is huge and all encompassing, most of the time it is small and all too finite.

There is no box.

I forget sometimes that people who have yet to differentiate between themselves and their culture can take criticism of that culture very personally. Like someone insulting a box that you don’t even recognize that you’re wearing.